wasp raze i used to leave fruit out for my friends on hot days. i stopped doing that when it started attracting eight or ten wasps at a time. having a few of them around didn't make me too uneasy. they always respected the squirrels. they never gave me any trouble. but when i couldn't see a grape anymore because of how many yellow and black bodies were fighting to suck the sweet nectar from the softest part of the circle, it painted some pretty dark pictures in my head. it didn't take long for them to scatter once they couldn't get what they wanted here anymore. just one straggler kept coming back. wherever i was, he would find me. he'd hang out on one of the walnut pieces in my bag or sit on my hand for a while. then he'd leave. once a day he would touch base with me. a week ago he danced across my glasses and let me record the music of his flight. his kind doesn't tend to live longer than three weeks. he'd already made it to four. when i didn't see him again, i started to think our last visit was his way of saying goodbye. this morning he came back. after we'd caught up, he touched down on the exposed flesh of the apple i was eating. "sorry, friend," i said. "that's for me." he flew away so i could enjoy the rest of my breakfast. i don't know how many more moments we'll share. the surviving workers won't make it through the first frost. a queen i've never seen will spend the winter sleeping beneath a dense pile of leaves or hiding out in the hollow arm of an old tree. come spring, she'll start a new hive, and each generation born will help to care for the last. i swear even the insects we're taught to run from have souls the size of skyscrapers. 231019 what's it to you? who go blather from