The second half of my congregation will arrive soon. I’ll make a prediction: July 15th. Yes, I have a following, a multitude, actually as large as any televised evangelical ministry. However, my followers receive nourishment without sending me a penny. I can turn in a light breeze and see a thousand mosquitoes in the air-eddy behind my body. Mosquito is a Spanish word for ‘little fly.’ Sounds innocent. They want to get close. Sounds cosy. They want my blood. Yup. She wants my blood (it’s true, only the females bite). The congregation will triple when the black flies arrive. Right now, it’s just mosquitoes. They are tolerable. Not the black fly. They are maddening. They take a bite out of you. There are documented cases where caribou drown themselves to get away. The mosquito sticks her long snout in. She sucks blood and withdraws, leaving a small red mark that itches. Together, the mosquito and black fly are one reason the tundra is less visited. People don’t want to deal with them.
