THE LITTLE WASP THAT WOULDN'T
He hung on for dear life, that little wasp. He'd attached himself to the hood of the truck near the windshield wiper somewhere about Prairie Du Chien, Wisconsin. I could see him trying to maneuver as best he could, just to stay on until he'd have a chance to fly away.
And even when I stopped, he just repositioned himself for a better hold and did not let go.
That little wasp clung for dear life until Luxemburg, Iowa when he finally freed himself. It was both with glee and sadness that he was able to make the ride—some 40 miles. Glee because he'd made it. Sadness because I knew that there was no way that little wasp would find his way back home.
And away from his nest, and away from his queen, he was sure to die anyway.
THE LITTLE WASP THAT WOULDN'T
He hung on for dear life, that little wasp. He'd attached himself to the hood of the truck near the windshield wiper somewhere about Prairie Du Chien, Wisconsin. I could see him trying to maneuver as best he could, just to stay on until he'd have a chance to fly away.
And even when I stopped, he just repositioned himself for a better hold and did not let go.
That little wasp clung for dear life until Luxemburg, Iowa when he finally freed himself. It was both with glee and sadness that he was able to make the ride—some 40 miles. Glee because he'd made it. Sadness because I knew that there was no way that little wasp would find his way back home.
And away from his nest, and away from his queen, he was sure to die anyway.