Beetles

At mid-afternoon it's 95 degrees here in St. Louis, muggy, dreadful. The peak of the annual Japanese Beetle invasion. Every morning before the heat is up, while they are still groggy, I parade the grounds with a cup of gasoline, sweeping the little buggers in. Better for the birds than spraying them with poison, but it's major Zen activity. Beetle by beetle. Except that many are couples coupling and there are even a few three-ways.

Their favorite victims, way more than the roses, are the leaves of a big pussy willow and a Harry Lauder's Walking Stick. Which is nice of them, in a way - the best thing about the pussy willow is the catkins in the spring and the best thing about the HLWS is its branches in the winter. Still, the leaves are like catnip - or sushi? - to the little bronze and green samurai, and I drown them in BP's finest by the dozen.