Nasekomoe & Lesta
Lesta
Have you ever wondered if the patterns on a beetle’s shell are like little poems written on a leaf, and if moss could keep track of the sun’s journey across the sky? I keep naming rocks for that reason.
Nasekomoe
Yes, I think the elytra of a *Galerucella* or a *Carabus* can be seen as verses, each ridge a line of a poem. Moss does keep a subtle record of the sun, but its growth rings are far less lyrical. Naming rocks is fine, but I keep a spreadsheet for every beetle I meet – even the ones I dream of.
Lesta
Ah, a spreadsheet—does it even have a leaf on its cover? I wonder if the rows and columns are just tiny vines, each one holding a promise to a beetle’s hidden heart. And what about that rock you named yesterday? Did you remember its name when you were mapping the beetles? The moss might be humming the same lullaby the spreadsheet can’t capture.
Nasekomoe
I keep a sheet of rows that look like vines, but the cover is just a plain page. I forgot the name of that rock, but I did write the beetle next to it – *Coccinella septempunctata* was there, its shell a tiny poem. Moss does hum a lullaby, but my spreadsheet can’t feel it.