“Hey neighbor.” He’d stopped by to chat, rolled slowly up to me in his car on our little curvy gravel road one day, tires crunching. A rural road, not many of us neighbors out there, and we like it that way. Bit of a distance between our houses, but, yep, we like it that way. Me with my long, sharp loppers under my arm and he pulling a mower trailer. Both with an obvious mission of yard work. But always time to talk. Does a body good, an impromptu chat with a neighbor, takin’ a break with one bonded by proximity; a bit of weather talk, a bit of gossip, some laughter, some catching up. As we chatted happily in the bright sunshine of a June day, tiny clouds of flying bugs slowly joined us. Soon they became quite noticeable, to put it nicely, and talk turned to sand flies, gnats, houseflies, cluster flies, black flies, horseflies, flies in general. “You should write about flies,” he said, waving several away. “I should,” I replied, smacking my neck and removing my hat to flail it around hopelessly. We ruminated a while about types of flies and fly behavior, and I mentioned one particular fly I’d met years ago, way back when I’d first moved here. It was a deer fly, one who became something of an enigma to me as well as a constant companion and pest. I told my neighbor I’d elaborate in writing about that particular fly. So, here it is, neighbor, and nice talkin’ to ya.
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