Caterpillars

I grew up in a humd climate. Out in the boonies, essentially. I wasn't a farmer, but it was a farming community. And heavily wooded.

I am so grateful for having that opportunity as a child. What a luxury, to have the freedom as a child to run where I wanted, explore what I wanted, and not have to be within sight of my parents. We lived in fear of everyone's parents--it was a small town. Any breaches of conduct would make their way to my parents' ears before I made it home.

The fall leaves in my hometown are spectactular.

I'm not fond of insects, but I do have fond memories of finding caterpillars. Crawling around in bushes, climbing fences, running through the fields, were all prime opportunities to find one. They were the big, fat, orange and black ones. Does that mean they turned into monarchs? I have no recollection.

Can you feel those tiny little feet, rippling, rippling over your finger? Watching the furry thing contract with a big back hump, and straighten out? They weren't as soft as they looked.

How long could I sit there with one of those? On a cool fall day, with the trees' leaves changing, a breeze blowing by? It must have been hours at a time.