Thursday, September 24, 2015

The Lord of the Wasps

     The morning began crisp and somewhat cool, but the heat of the summer would commence shortly.  The work needed to be done before it became too oppressive.  Dew covered the ground and glistened as the sun kissed the grass.  The participants in this ritual were two in number, and shared a familial bond.  A passing of the proverbial torch.  One generation imparting wisdom to the next.  A mystifying confluence of knowledge.  In this case, knowledge of the land.  An upkeep of the terra firma.  The cutting of the grass.

     One equipped with a mower, and the other armed with a weedeater.  As if guided by some unknown force they began.  The earth must be held to a standard set forth by civilization itself.  They would abide and prostrate themselves in front of the neighborhood covenant.  The grass will not overtake us!  We will capitulate to the norms of the culture in which we live.  It is only rational to yield to the general will.  Grass will be cut.  Tears may be shed.  Danger lurks around every turn.

     A symphony of sounds began.  The humming of the mower and the loud whining of the weedeater.  The song they played was mesmerizing and hypnotic, but the harmony was interrupted by a vile creature.  Second only to the demon yellow jackets of Hades, a cluster of Red Wasps would soon invade the tranquil work setting of our protagonists.

     The attack was swift and extremely painful.  The more seasoned of our landscaping duo was the victim.  An immediate feeling of red hot needles going into the skin as if applied by some zombie witch doctor.  The pain sensors notified the brain, and the fight or flight response began.  We will fight!  Target located.  At least a dozen, maybe more, of the demon wasps were flying around a wooden fence where our hero was trimming.  Attempts to strike the evil insects were not successful, and another painful sting occurred on the right ear lobe.  The lungs of the attacked emptied with a combination of curses and aired frustration.  Immediately out of the corner of his eye he saw a weapon.  A broom no less.  The arch enemy of a wasp, and a fine way to smash these most atrocious creatures into oblivion!  The sweeping device was retrieved, and a sweep of wasps would commence.  This was war!

     Swinging a broom in hopes of killing a wasp is oddly liberating.  It was not the perfect form Ted Williams swing, but malicious intent was behind the action.  The wasps retreated to the safety located behind a piece of the wood fence.  This was where the nest resided, but extermination of the entire wasp civilization was the goal.  An attempt to remove the wasps from their place of safety was made, and the stick end of the broom was used to stir up the proverbial nest.  Or, rather, in this case, the actual nest.  Immediately the spawns of Satan attacked, but stealth and pure athletic ability saved our hero from a most certain doom.  However, quite possibly the movement was too fluid and smooth, because the broom handle broke off of the broom and became implanted in the fence.  This happened just as the wasp attack victim was gaining the upper hand, and these heinous insects must have understood this with some type of waspy sixth sense.  They went on the offensive, and attacked once more.

     At this point the younger of the two landscapers appeared and began to observe the carnage in which his father was caught up.  He would later report what he observed.  It was an awful sight.  A grown man swinging a partially intact broom at flying bugs while ducking and weaving constantly like Mike Tyson was the opponent.  The man fought valiantly, but eventually in a last ditch attempt to crush his opponent, performed what can only be described as a partial back somersault, eventually landing extremely hard on his backside and directly onto the very ravenous red wasps he was trying to kill.  In the process the victim became victimized yet again.  Red hot poker stings in several more spots.  It was a good day to die.  At least for the wasps, but they went out in a blaze of glory stinging the slightly insane man wielding broom pieces.

     The sun still shines even in our darkest hour.  Life still goes on regardless of the pain and suffering all around us.  Nature is still as wild as it was on the first day, and man no matter how hard he tries will never completely tame it.  I know this.  I am aware of the impossibility of this idea, because I am the Lord of the Wasps.