Procesionaria again

3^rd March

It is March once more and the procesionaria are forming their long lines in the woods and on the roads, and so I am posting this poem again.  This year the winter in Mallorca has been mild and so in mid-February these caterpillars first appeared, thinking that the time had come to be on the move.  As so often when the winter is mild and seems to be handing over to spring, there was a short cold spell at the end of February.  But the procesionaria took this in their stride and once more walk the paths in the woods. 

The other sign of spring is yellow terraces and yellow cars. The pines here dust the roads and houses with their yellow pollen every year in early March. 

Procesionaria

In the woods of Mallorca in springtime caterpillars form lines which can be as long as three yards.  They then move in procession towards a pine tree which they climb.  In the branches of the pine they make a nest which looks like a ball of cobwebs and is about the size of a football.  These nests are removed because any insects falling on walkers beneath cause a very painful rash on the skin.  Mallorcans used to take a shotgun to destroy the nests, but today quieter methods are used.

They call them “procesionaria” here

For just around this time of year,

When spring is getting under way,

These caterpillars form long lines

Along the paths among the pines.

They move in search of some tall tree

Where they can nest and quietly rest

Through the summer days not far away.

Just yesterday I crossed the wood,

Saw them again and stopped and stood

To give them right of way,

As was only fair.

I too am sorry Man’s dominion

Has broken nature’s social union.

But the queue did not move.

The line was quietly waiting there,

For two at the back

Had fallen away and quite lost track

Of their companions up ahead.

  

The others waited,

Waited.

In spite of all they had in mind to do,

Their task of reaching a certain tree,

A certain place where they had to be.

All of them waited silent there,

On the open path exposed and bare,

Open to any walker’s boot

Or thoughtless child who proud

Of his little strength and power

Would crush them in a second.

Finally,

After much ado and many false starts,

First one, then the other

Found the end of the line.

The message passed,

And a yard or so ahead in the heather

The leader put his best foot forward,

And on they went in procession again.

I left them slowly moving together,

All in a line together at last.