Grasshopper

I trained the water from the nozzle of the hose on the grasshopper, knocking it off the wall. It half fell, half jumped onto the grass a few feet away, fleeing yet another obstacle to life.
Another attack in a short lifetime of attacks, another crime without a purpose.

The jet of water followed almost as quickly as the grasshopper fled,
finding it in the grass before it had the chance to get its footing and be off to the next wall.

Water pressure pushed the grasshopper deeper and deeper into the grass,
preventing it from breaking free of the drowning stream.

It lifted a leg as if to try to thrust itself away from this horrible, wet attack,
but I moved the stream of water expertly to the left, then  to the right, twisting its leg
until it could no longer thrust in any direction but up, helplessly pushing against the sky.

The lifespan of an adult grasshopper is only 30 days.
So murder by drowning only robs it, at most, of 30 days.
To me, 30 days is just a month, but to a grasshopper, it’s a lifetime.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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