I saw a grasshopper at work today, and philosophical interpritation sprang to life. Here's the result, which I first typed in my LiveJournal. I've given it a title, since I was impressed enough with my comparison to give it some literary credit.
The Grasshopper's Shell
In the back room of Fry's Marketplace, where we keep all our extra grocery items stocked, there's the large dairy refrigerator to your left right as you enter through the double doors, and beyond that, a hallway made up of the outside wall of the refrigerator on one side and stacked boxes of cereal against the far wall on the other side. That short hallway leads down to the freezer, where I have to go when the small freezer in the front starts running out of ice for the customers. It's very nice back there, dimmer and away from the noise of the shoppers and their children.
On one such expedition, as I put on my gloves and nabbed a six-wheeler, I saw a grasshopper fly in this short, stout hallway and land on the ledge at the base of the refrigerator wall. There had been plenty of the around lately, probably due to a flux of breeding, and it seemed some were slipping in through the large door around the corner, where they unload things from the supply trucks. It reminded me of the day before, when I'd been coming out of the game store enjoined with the video rental place to find a gigantic grasshopper on my friend's car. It was fascinating, captivating my interest right away. After my friend got photographic record of it on his phone, I dared to reach out and make contact; some grasshoppers are more friendly than others, after all. This one, unfortunately, was too scared by my touch to stay, and tried to take off. I noticed it flew clumsily, like it was too heavy for itself. After an accidental bang into the adjacent van, it decided to stay there, clinging on with its previously held composure like it had meant to perch there all along. I decided not to bother it further.
This grasshopper, however, sitting so innocently on the ledge at the base of the refrigerator, was small and uninteresting, not like the mammoth I'd seen yesterday. I didn't give it a second thought.
After a quarter of an hour stacking bags of ice on the six-wheeler, I pushed my allotment out of the freezer and spent several minutes trying to close the door, since the latch is close to busted and needs some work to get it 100% shut. As I did this, I saw what seemed like a second grasshopper next to the first. Examining the two further, it became clear to me: The grasshopper had just molted. I was furious with myself for throwing away chance to see it firsthand. How often do were carelessly overlook these transformations?
The old exoskeleton lay there, a ghostly image of what the grasshopper used to be, something that can only be seen as a memory... never again to be, to move those jointed legs or to fly with the carefully folded wings. It had doubtlessly served the grasshopper well, that old shell, bringing happy and prosperous times, but now that his fleshy insides had swelled with age, it was impossible to hold onto it. Trying to stay confined in that form would've destroyed him in the end, and he knew the time was right to cast it aside. Was he sorry that those times had left him?
The new, larger form was progress towards being like the giant, amazing grasshopper I'd seen in front of the video rental place, but he didn't seem so sure of himself just now. Pink and soft, he moved with awkward steps rather than the fantastic leaps you usually see in between petrified stances of rest. He tried to climb up the side of the refrigerator several times, but after only a few inches he always fell back down, forced to arduously flip himself over and continue ambling about in his uncoordinated stupor. For a long time, he probably wouldn't be able to do all the things he could before. How long until he could fly? How long until he could get enough food? Just how painful would life be for him until he could adjust?
Someday he'd break in this new shell for good, and he'd be bounding around happily until it was time to shed yet again, growing yet bigger, more impressive and more interesting. But for now, he was weak and vulnerable. It must've been embarrassing to be seen like that.
Later, on an errand to return some spoiled products to reclamation, I made a point of revisiting the site where I'd seen the grasshopper, but he was gone, crawled off somewhere else for shelter. Now only his exoskeleton was left, drooping and lifeless. He'd disregarded his old shell, leaving behind the memories, chapters of his life he'd written and never read again.
Will I, too, cast away all remnants of my old shell?