AND THEY WANT IN! WHY?

And they want in!  Why?

There at the window lightly springing off the glass are bugs, especially the cranefly.
You've all seen them, those spindly legged transparent insects that look like large mosquitoes.  Then there's the moths forever and a day bouncing around, tacking here and there, trying to sidle their way inside.  And, of course, you have the ever hardy June bug.  Those things not only are untrackable, they have a specific pzzzzit sound, right?

Makes you want to squeal like a little girl, cross your arms over you head, and duck and tremble!

Pondering these bugs each doing their own little useless dance to get into my house I'm wondering, "Why?"

Don't they know I'll squish 'em!

Don't they realize there's nothing in here for them.  The light is man-made florescent.  The smells are not food related at all when you notice the fizzled candle wicks, the sweet pea spray droplets, and the spittle crumbs from the toddler's visit.

Sometimes I think their antics are just a "spectacle in racing."  Watching them is quite the spectacle.  Long legs fly behind the cranefly as he bounces from the corner to the center thinking if he bounces just a little harder like a battering ram he can get in, "Head for the light!"

Fluttering and flittering the moth leaves a dusty gray trail, mindlessly, haphazardly making entrance through crevices unseen.  "I will survive!"

Crazy madcap June bug pzzzziting his way here and there all around the edges ricocheting from one point to another, like some wild thing, "Must.  Get.  In."

Why?  The why of it all!  There's a whole big world out there full of their mates, plenty of fern and foliage, shelter for the weakest, anything a bug could want, and yet, like humans thinking the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, they want in.  They persevere until they die trying.

Someone should tell them that inside it's just a Holodeck of a bugs life.

Not capable of speaking bug, I can help.
The angel on my right shoulder says, "Just turn out the lights."
The devil on my left shoulder is snickering a whisper, "Kill them dead."

Going towards a light of my own in the garden closet, I'm feeling devilish.
"RAID!"