We're on an island remote from Alaska, but not too far, just in case there is danger. Like Russia. There are bluejays talking to us. More like barking at us. They seem curious of who we are, there in their territory. We are the invaders. They make sounds communicating with each other in a language I can't understand. But maybe I do.
They're trying to figure out who we are as well. And how territorial we will be. With our food. And our space.
The bugs don't care about us or those mouthy birds.
They are just flying around, buzzing past ears, landing on dewy skin. They are interested in the food, too.
But they don't eat much.
In the distance is a soft lapping sound from the salty ocean water. A sign of life that has passed us by. A sign that life continues to move, although we stay here.
Inside and all around, life is busy, although we are still.
They're trying to figure out who we are as well. And how territorial we will be. With our food. And our space.
The bugs don't care about us or those mouthy birds.
They are just flying around, buzzing past ears, landing on dewy skin. They are interested in the food, too.
But they don't eat much.
In the distance is a soft lapping sound from the salty ocean water. A sign of life that has passed us by. A sign that life continues to move, although we stay here.
Inside and all around, life is busy, although we are still.
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