Wisdom From a Wasp

“Man and nature belong together in their created glory—in their tragedy and in their salvation.”—Paul Tillich She floats in on a summer breeze, weary, heavy with eggs, and chooses to nest outside our window, working tirelessly on the many-celled orb, carefully plastering it to the glass, a home. Then, a god unto herself, she rests, before depositing her eggs, one per cell. They’ll get into the house and sting us. here’s a can of spray. go kill them, tear down the nest I am told, so I trudge out to avoid nursing both sting and I-told-you-so, but seeing no potential point of entry I return, no blood on my hands. For days, then weeks eggs hatch and the queen mother tends her brood, faithfully feeding, preparing them for their first days free of the bonds of the earth. The hurricane she roars the rain she pours the wind she blows chaos she sows. The nest has blown to the ground a gray spongy pile that with care I lift up and tape to the window. Will she come or is she gone? She returns and, frantic, a mother’s horror, searches for her babies in and out of every cell, a blind thing feeling for its world. Inside we watch, exhort, look above you, no, below now. She finds them and order is restored in the tattered home, then again she rests while small ones inch closer to seeking the sky. Two weeks respite, another storm approaches, to collect the price we pay to live in paradise. With plastic and tape I work to form a fortress around the damaged nest, but here she comes, will I be stung, caught in this home invasion? She circles, lands near me, circles and dances about but offers no resistance, my mission is approved. The second storm rages and when it ends a battered nest, no queen, her colony is not seen. Was there safety for them before the storm, or did they tumble away? This I never knew, but after twenty years I remain sure that at no time again will I ignore the significance of the insignificant.