This grasshopper died from pesticide sprayed near his favorite citrus trees, but I don’t want you to feel sorry for him. He was sort of a jack-off. You know the kind: never happy with himself. Grasshoppers are plagues but crickets get brought inside for good luck, he complained. It was the same bullshit all the time with this guy.
Fred died. Yeah, that was his name. “Bless the next world with him,” one of my spirit guides told me. So, now when I think of Fred I’m not sad. I picture him more contented than he was in the 3rd dimension. He’s safe from the miracle of modern chemistry, and he’s riding an Indian Chieftain across the desert. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not blowing out the roof chakra with a violet/gold flame for him. He was never the same after that left knee replacement. He could be a real dick and a half when the weather was damp. I see him getting where he needs to go, though, and fast.