Untitled I

When I sat down to begin yet another post, I saw a small insectile shape sitting nearby on the desk. The legs and poor, shadowy lighting made me think it was a spider, at first. (I have a mild phobia of spiders.) More light revealed it was a yellowjacket wasp.

My parents had an infestation of them up under the eaves this summer, where some siding had come loose and the wasps could build a nest in the wall. They'd been buzzing around the gardens ad nauseam, and many were found dead in various rooms on that side of the house, where they had gotten in via windowframes. No stings, though; they aren't aggressive, they just get riled if you threaten their nest or attack them. Exterminators had come for them earlier this month, and the nights have been getting colder, so I have been seeing fewer.

This one was perching, awkwardly, on a sheaf of envelopes. It was clinging, tired. Its back feet trembled, its abdomen occasionally pulsed. I wonder if it was dying, without its hive. Or maybe, it had just gotten lost in the house, and couldn't find food enough to keep going.

We think of them as pests, and I suppose they can be. The stark yellow and black, brazen buzzing, signalling they are not to be trifled with. But, look closely at one that is still (they are not often still). It was shapely, in a way, curves and points flowing end to end. It had a fine fuzz jacket on its torso. There was a kind of humble beauty, despite the zany colors and angles.

I saw a tired, helpless creature, struggling to go on. Separated from its family, its society. Lost, in need. Perhaps dying already.

I crushed it. Not out of fear or desperation; indeed, I gave it more than a minute's thought. (A silly thing, perhaps.) I suspect that its queen is dead and its hive is scattered, and the cold nights of autumn are already coming. Death would be slow. I made it quick, a few layers of toilet paper to insulate me from a sting it was likely unable to even deliver. I like to think I did what was best for that poor individual, but I am saddened anyway. It is a hard world for wasps, and for us. A quick and painless obliteration may often be the best we can hope for.


Saturday the 21st of September, 2019

Pain: 35
Struggle: 20
Success: 60