Mosquito mysteries


#1

Last night, the light of the first Spring day fading but the warmth lingering still, groups of mosquitoes danced behind and over the shed.

As I stood watching, trying to understand their slowing and speeding up in rise and fall, occassionally a different pattern drifted by: a pair, freshly created from one of the clouds. Two, who had found each other. Chosen each other from those seemingly all-similar individuals dancing within the invisible boundaries of their ballrooms.

Not just two, but one-and-one. One, frantically beating their wings and flying with newfound clumsiness, often descending slowly as the weight of the still-winged partner they were holding got the better of them. Sometimes the flying one would temporarily hold on to leaf or roof for a moment, as if to take an unwanted pause in their bridal flight.

Meanwhile, the up- and down looping lovers-to-be seemed to speed up at times, just enough to make it impossible to discern which ones would suddenly emerge as the next pair of lovers. As if the moment of choice must stay private, invisible, only relevant for the two concerned. Sometimes the speeding up and the shrinking of the loops seemed to announce an engagement, but more often than not they would all slow down again to catch their breath and prepare for the next flurry of desire.

Who made up these groups of dancers? Why would they never seem to move from one group to the next, even if only a meter away? What might attract them in each other? Would they go with the fling of the moment or have an eye on another for some time? Would they start worrying as the sunlight faded even further and they still had not found a mate? Would they feel uncertain at the approach of their first time together?