The Angel of Death

Last night, at a quarter to eleven, we shut off our attic fan, closed all our windows, and put the metal slat down so our dog couldn’t go out through the doggie door. Soon we could hear the hum of the helicopter up above, dusting the poison meant for West Nile-laden mosquitoes over our heads, and we could smell the faintest hint of chemicals seeping into the house. My fanciful imagination and I couldn’t help thinking it was the angel of death from Moses’ day passing over us (see Exodus 12:22-29). Except there was no blood on our lintel. And for just a moment, I thought someone might come in today to find us dead in our beds.

(And that’s funny I should think of Moses when the point of the poison is to eradicate West Nile Virus, which also came out of Egypt, it sounds like)

Fanciful imagination notwithstanding, I made it through the night alive. And so did my family. And so did everyone else in the neighborhood, I guess. Well, hopefully not the mosquitoes.