At the Winnetka station I lean on the fence, seeing (but not really seeing) the grass and autumn flowers. When something moves, it takes me a moment to recognize the mantis climbing up a stalk of goldenrod: a three inch insect perfectly itself, yet also an illusion, a collection of grass tips and curled leaves. I can’t resist, I pull the weed toward me, I touch the back of the praying mantis, she feels cool, and smooth, a plant to the touch. The mantis runs a foot or more down from her perch, but turns, just after, and makes her way back, a mountaineer bearing saws and using four green canes. She swivels her head, like an owl, so she can watch me, as I watch her: her bloated abdomen, the brown of a long-dried leaf, heaves as if she were panting—I’d interrupted her maternal task, she was ready to push forth a pudding of froth and eggs that would harden into a shell overnight, a cabin for her children. Her entire body a toolbox made for this task; she will die soon after, or not survive the frost. When I move, so too does her smart little pin-dot gaze, with a pivot of her gem-stone triangular head. The train is arriving

and I have to decide, do I lean on the fence, watch this ballet of birth and making, her ink-drop eyes, her saw-hinge arms; or retreat to my commute, my home, my own backpack of everyday worries. No reaction from the mantis as the train earthquakes into the station. Goodbye, little death, disappear into those yellowing grasses. Goodbye to the cabinet of your body, the blades of your arms, your alien face and appraising glance. May you be the mother of five hundred ninjas. Back in the train car, the same car I take every day, I think of next spring, and the emergence of those fratricidal stick pin children. I think about time, and I think about loss. What if I had stayed there, watching her, recording moments on my phone, a sort of Jane Goodall of the mantid kingdom? What if I had hurled a slab of brick and ruined her? Why did a little boy part of me want to look for stones and do just that? I feared and wondered, from Winnetka on home to the Ravenswood stop.