Once my wife invited a friend over
to our place, which had a narrow back yard
full of tall laurels. She was showing
the friend the yard through the large
kitchen window. I was in the yard
with a baseball bat, looking at
a hornets' nest in one of the laurels.
The nest: that beautiful gray menacing
mache mansion. I hit the nest with
the bat, I'm not sure why, and
the hornets poured out, a squadron
going after me. They hammered
my neck and head. Now a figure
in an animated cartoon, I ran toward
the house and, desperate, got in there.
The two women looked at me. I put
down the bat and panted. The women
didn't say anything. Hornets were hitting
the kitchen window. Later, my wife
asked, "Why do you do such things?"
Copyright 2011 Hans Ostrom