To the editor:
I propose a funeral, not a celebration of life, but a solemn dirge of the heart, for the millions of insects who were slain this past week by the greed of man.
As the slow methodical drone of the planes made their way over the valley, with the magic of Mustang Max countless defenseless bugs were transcended: from the hot-rod red of the ladybug, the translucent yellow of the tiny spider, the summer gold of the bumblebee and yes, even the old man face of the grasshopper into brittle black crumbs. As their tiny bodies with perfectly interwoven mechanisms traveled the jungle of hay stems last week, they are no more. Without remedy.
There is a pall over the valley, a stillness.
The bitter poison will be ingested by the cattle and then we will ingest the cattle. Perhaps the poison will invade a cell, or maybe two and cause it to metastasize in reaction to the invader.
So sad we could not have the patience to let nature have its natural course ...