It was warm. It was humid. A breeze—heavy and indolent—stirred the faces of irregular puddles. Clouds promised rain. Again. The dragons of Agara, I thought, were busy, melting winter’s prodigious chill from the sky. There were earwigs, and so by Agaran logic, there were dragons. There was a snake as well, entertained by the thought that he could also be a river. He flowed, with the grace of water, through dead brambles and green, succulent weeds. He vanished and—perhaps—found something tasty to eat. On days when it is warm, a breeze may blow with indolence. On days, when it is warm and snakes pretend to be rivers, it is possible—in Agaran logic—to find miracles. They dwell under rocks. In Agara, if you want a miracle, turn a few stones and watch what scurries out. Miracles scurry. They like the shady, cool places where rocks rest their bellies against soft, moist (or dry) earth. Miracles are fragile things, as an Agaran might tell you, and it is no surprise that in the Agaran language, the word for miracle stems from the same root as invertebrate. In Agara, miracles are worms and crustaceans, insects, spiders, and mites. In Agara, miracles—to the Western eye—are things that make Western women flap their hands in ludicrous, histrionic distress, and warble like dyspeptic opera singers. Agarans, upon sight of earwigs and centipedes, giggle and coo in gentle baby-talk sounds, or sweep the occasional 6-or-8 legged invaders from their home with diminutive brooms made specifically for that purpose. In general, if it has 8 legs, it is welcome in an Agaran home, as 8-legged things tend to eat the 6-legged things with a tendency to become pests. It was warm and humid on the day I found peace (a miracle, as an Agaran might say) under a rock. There were earwigs and centipedes: fast moving creatures. There were isopods: sowbugs and woodlice. Like the earwigs and their centipede companions, the sowbugs (with their velvet-tinged backs) scurried. The woodlice, heavier with armor, rolled into neat little balls, or burrowed (quickly) under leaf litter. Some—more than a quartet of them—dipped into worm-holes. I moved on, in search of others and I found two, ambling peacefully in the shadow of a rock. I approached them, slowly and with care. They didn’t notice me, or as an Agaran might say, they agreed to be seen. I took as much delight in this as a snake might in pretending to be a river. I took pictures to mark the moment and—later—pulled lettuce from a hamburger, cleaned it off in a puddle, and left the succulent greenery where last I saw these two woodlice. In Agara, one always leaves something for the little miracles that live under stones. I always leave a little something for the small, non-human people who give my camera something to photograph. Though I have no ideas yet, I think something is happening in Agara. Perhaps Pjötr is about to take Miranda to work—to show off his new girlfriend to the guys…maybe Éosláv and Jacob are up to something involving…well…whatever it is they keep getting involved with. Maybe Atalik is on the verge of writing another magnum opus, and of course, maybe the Machine is active again, or the Number-8 Train is behind schedule. In any event, something is likely to happen in Agara, though I can’t say precisely when…but something is on its way, and I’m pretty curious to see what it is. It probably involves woodlice, since these two are the very critters that sent my thoughts towards Agara in the first place. More on that, later… As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you’re all having a great week.