This is a sad entry for me. I am a lover of all living creatures; great, small, fierce, docile, feathered, scaled, cryptid, and otherwise. Last night I discovered that the great comic of the jellyfish tank, Jean-Pierre “Buster” Crabbe the hermit crab, had passed away.
Interestingly, he had crawled out of his shell prior to death, so I discovered him curled between two clear glass pebbles on the floor of the tank a few centimeters away from his shell. He was so small and rather naked seeming like that. When I removed him from the tank, the jellyfish seemed to caress my hand, feeling like whispers against my old skin.
Bubo set to wailing a mournful cry and I buried Buster in the garden, beneath the tomato plants. I placed his shell atop his grave.
As the characters in one of my favorite children’s books did, I will hang a weathergram dedicated to Buster in the garden, commemorating his life. (I speak, of course, of E.L. Konigsburg’s Up From Jericho Tel. Check it out and read it, why don’t you? I guarantee you’ll enjoy yourself.)
I’m thinking of penning this for Buster, what do you think?
You boxed aquatic clouds while walking in water. Now you will swim with true welkin ones.