Saturday, September 11

Tonight we walk back to campus from the Coffee House and stop by the fountain to listen to a music major play violin. On one of the rejected quarry rocks in the fountain, a young man of indeterminate nationality is sitting in what might be meditation or prayer, or something else altogether. Maybe he has a comic book in his lap, or a math text. It seems like his eyes are closed, though, except when he notices us looking at the praying mantis that shares the rock. After he turns around again, the mantis climbs his shoulder. Eventually it flies away.

(When I was still in high school, we found an insect on flowers my mom had brought in from outside. It was built along mantis lines, but was small and stocky, with mottled coloring - brown on pale green. We named it George. Eventually we learned that George had many readily identifiable kin, though they varied in size and shade.)