That evening on the terrace, in the yellow glow of the outside light, it took a lull in the dinner conversation for anyone to notice that something was missing. Where were the dull thwacks of flying insects bumping against the lightbulb? Even the tuneless orchestra of cicadas or crickets, whichever they were (no one was quite sure), had stilled its instruments.
“Where have all the insects gone?” someone said.
We looked down at the ground, littered with spilled crumbs from our plates. The usual marching army of ants had failed to appear.
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