I’ve always been a big fan of Nature.
I see the Earth not as a 1987 Mercury Topaz dragging us around the sun until we die, but as a living, breathing thing. A wise, sentient being that would actually speak to us if we listened. I’ve always felt this way.
As a child, I subscribed to Ranger Rick magazine, the official kid’s magazine of the National Wildlife Federation. While other kids clipped pages out of Teen Beat, my centerfolds were penguins. I felt like Nature and I had a “thing.”
Until today. Today, my blind faith was tested. Today, I got hit in the head by a wasp.
He didn’t sting me; he flew into me. The welt is from the impact.
I was just walking my dog, and I saw this wasp flying at me. I remember thinking: “Should I duck?” Then I thought: “The wasp is the one that knows how to fly; surely he instinctively knows how to…(Thwap!)…OWWW!…What the…?”
Nature, c’mon! Why hast thou forsaken me? And a wasp, no less. I already hate wasps. They serve no purpose but to fly and sting. They’re already the thugs of the insect world, and now they’re Kamikazes? If it were a bunny, well, then I would applaud you. You create a prototype flying rabbit, and I’m with you. Plus, being hit in the head by a flying bunny would have felt absolutely whimsical. But wasps? They already suck in so many ways; do they have to be clumsy, too?
Nature, if you’re reading this, I think our trust has been violated. I need some time.
And I pinned you up on my wall.