The Mosquito

Finally, after a three-day heat wave, this morning about 3:00, our friend the fog returned to the top of Twin Peaks, brought by a 20 knot zephyr at about 12 degrees C.

While applauding my pinpointing of this event, you may wonder just why I was able to do so. The answer, insomnia, brought on either by my excitement over the impending visit of an old friend or by my having slain, gasp, a mosquito on my laundry porch at dusk and thus lain there naked atop my bed impatiently waiting to be devoured alive before the house cooled off enough that I could shelter under a sheet.

Apparently I killed the only mosquito in the neighborhood that hatched in the brief window of opportunity the heat wave offered. Either that or my constant thrashing about after imaginary bites so exhausted the hovering clouds of mosquitoes that one by one, their famished bodies fell noiselessly to the floor before I finally succumbed to sleep at 3:30 or so.

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