There are dead hornets lined up on my kitchen window sill, dozens of them, finally given up after visit #4 from George the Bee Man who wreaked his havoc with poison powders. It all makes me a little nauseous. Who gave me the right to authorize this small-scale (in the scheme of things)
hornet-ocide? More aware than ever of the delicate balance in which we reside on this planet, tipping as we all are to certain annihilation.
This was brought to mind this week, as we dumped trash at work into plastic sacks:
The journey of trash, coming soon to an ocean near you.
Remember when litter on the side of the road was a big issue?
But back to the hymenoptera who were munching away at my sheetrock, constructing their exquisite and alien-looking condominium development in my crawlspace. It came down to them vs. my house. And I won, I guess, seeing as we didn't seem to be able to co-exist without doing each other harm. And, well, I'm bigger.
Not a sting to be had, though.
I'm thinking that perhaps a hornet funeral is in the works for this weekend.