KMUW editorial commentator Richard Crowson has called a temporary truce on some summertime pests.
An unseasonably cool August morning yesterday had me heading for the wasp spray. They had taken up residence in a bush along our backyard fence. Early morning, when they are docile is the recommended time to spray their nests.
Something stopped me. I guess it was just the sweet stillness of that meditative moment. A distant cardinal’s chirp and the steady drone of late summer’s cricket songs quietly compelled me to sit down on our deck. A canopy of leaves above, deep green in their full summer maturity, began a whispering response to a soft breeze.
I had just read news reports about shootings. Here in Wichita, distantly in Ferguson. People shooting people. People killing lions. Chemical spills killing streams. Budget cuts leading to deaths. Our governor’s brother brandishing firearms at terrified neighbors. Deaths and threats of deaths peppering God’s green earth.
On the fence hang some strings of tiny, ornamental mirrors. The breeze made them wiggle delicately, this way and that. For a few minutes each morning, they reflect the warm, life-giving rays of the rising sun. Dazzling flecks of brilliance flit fairy-like around that corner of the yard.
While I watched, the tiny lights danced across the bush containing the dreaded wasps. It was just enough of a metaphor to stop my attack. Fall is imminent, and with it, the end of wasps.
I put away my spray can of death. I’ll avoid that bush for a few more weeks and let the earth’s steady roll have its way with wasps and sunlight’s dance.
