Is it self-conscious?
Does it feel exposed or hide for being different? Or has it adapted, thriving because of the privilege and obligation of being different?
Does it wish things were different, that it was green like the rest? Or does it see now, after all that time trying to fit in, that there are some definite advantages from a lifetime of knowing it didn’t.
Has it had to be stronger than the other katydids, wiser, quicker, because it cannot hide its differences from the world, which has often tried to make it easy prey?
Has it discovered the world of beautiful pink flowers, because leaves aren’t the only place for a katydid to survive?
I wonder if the other katydids know it’s pink? Do they admire it openly for its extraordinary uniqueness? Or do they avoid it, afraid of something different, unable to accept another so seemingly unlike them. Perhaps they rub their green spiny legs together, loudly gossiping their disapproval in harmony with the other katydids, leaving the pink katydid isolated and learning how to live with being alone.
I wonder if they stand back and let it languish in the open. Maybe they believe, because it’s always stood out, that it can handle any challenge that comes its way? Or do they find a way to protect it from harm, knowing it may not be able to camouflage as well as the others?
Does the pink katydid have any other pink katydid friends, friends who feel a kinship not just from their color, but from what they’ve had to endure.
And most of all, I imagine who among the green katydids may come forward, not just to accept the pink katydid, but to make sure it feels treasured, cherished and protected for all the wonderful things it must be, because it was destined to go through life differently pink.
~ cj 2013.03.06
A pink katydid – its unusual color is the result of a genetic mutation known as erythrism, similar to the recessive gene that afflicts albino animals.
Picture from Animania Galleria