insect

When I first set the dead beetle (retrieved from our mailbox) on top of this dusty bookcase a week or so ago, I’d pass it and think, “Oh, ew, I should find a place in the girls’ room for that or dump it in the trash.”

When I pass it now I think of Kafka’s The Metamorphosis. Rather than feeling absurdity and emotional disconnection, though, I’m reminded of how beautiful I find the story. It’s in the unsettling nature of the beetle’s exoskeleton that I find connection, happiness, and peace.