Do not cut up the worms
or swat the wasps. They dearly need our help. Life and beauty would be gone in their
absence. Without them, Wordsworth would never have written Daffodils, Jack
would never have had a beanstock, Matsuo Bashō would never have written those haikus and Gyo
Fujikawa would never have produced those stunning illustration that haunts the
child within.
Now let us take this
seriously for a moment. Worms decompose dead matter and pass the nutrients on
to trees, flowers, and vegetation in this grand symbiotic dance of death and
life. Wasps spend hour after hour, pollinating plants, and flowers. They bring
pleasure to the human family. Think of this little workhorse the next time you
see a rainbow eucalyptus tree or a bleeding-heart flower.
When
I was a child, I took an aerosol and spray painted a hive of wasps silver. There they were, just buzzing away, minding their own business. I realised then, that
small as they are, they can be protective and vengeful. They had every reason
to be so; I invaded their private realm. Thirteen times they stung me. After
you are stung, you cannot be unstung, they leave their mark. My mother counted
the reminders as she applied the soothing calamine lotion.
A righteous man respects the life of his animal
A righteous man respects the life of his animal.
Proverbs 12:10 (WEB)
Image by https://unsplash.com/@hamishsecrett
Do not cut up the worms or swat the wasps. They dearly need our help. Life and beauty would be gone in their absence. Without them, Wordsworth would never have written Daffodils, Jack would never have had a beanstock, Matsuo Bashō would never have written those haikus and Gyo Fujikawa would never have produced those stunning illustration that haunts the child within.
Now let us take this seriously for a moment. Worms decompose dead matter and pass the nutrients on to trees, flowers, and vegetation in this grand symbiotic dance of death and life. Wasps spend hour after hour, pollinating plants, and flowers. They bring pleasure to the human family. Think of this little workhorse the next time you see a rainbow eucalyptus tree or a bleeding-heart flower.
When I was a child, I took an aerosol and spray painted a hive of wasps silver. There they were, just buzzing away, minding their own business. I realised then, that small as they are, they can be protective and vengeful. They had every reason to be so; I invaded their private realm. Thirteen times they stung me. After you are stung, you cannot be unstung, they leave their mark. My mother counted the reminders as she applied the soothing calamine lotion.
Writing: © 2024 Jim McCrory