 We’ve had an unexpected invasion. Suddenly there are yellow-jackets swarming our upstairs living space. I’ve experienced mass indoor appearances of ladybugs, but as the entertaining-but-accurate definitions above attest, yellow-jackets are decidedly un-ladylike. On the other hand, this crew is particularly logy, as if someone woke them mid-hibernation and they don’t quite know what to do. Mostly they just fizzle out and die on the carpet. Still, my heart rate increases every time I tiptoe, cringing, through the area. I flinch at the tap-tap-buzz against glass, imagine things landing in my hair. I’ve disposed of at least 30 yellow-jacket corpses. They’re everywhere. I found one in my jewelry box. We’ve had to dispatch the rest by hand, but I confess that I leave most of the killing to Jonathan. It’s one place where my feminism fails. There’s a tiny piece of regret. Clearly something went wrong with this innocent wasp community. And yet, when the home front is directly threatened, it’s harder to summon sympathy. Hmm. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 39: 165 words, TOTAL = 5788; 54,212 remaining |
AuthorRobin Clifford Wood is a writer and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband and dogs, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her grown children and their multi-species families. Archives
January 2021
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