Returning to the screen house, I find Housefly is still there. I sit momentarily saddened by her demise, then I notice she is moving. The air is warmer today, and will be warmer still later in the day, so I decide that I will move her outside, but as I contemplate my actions it occurs to me how often I assume myself as the only actor in these plays.
“What will I do,” I ask myself? But I am not the only actor. There is also Housefly, and the person who built the screen house, their parents, my parents and Housefly's parents; the list could go on and on.
This brings me once again back to the idea of intersections. All of these actor's actions have intersected in this moment. Housefly's most recent action was to move. Mine was to move her. I left her resting on the railing of the deck. I don't know what she will do next. I will go inside and eat my breakfast.