It's become a ritual. Every night, I put the backyard hose at this house-sit at full blast and stealthily climb the stairs to the deck. I aim the spray at the centre of the huge umbrella and soon, bedraggled wasps struggle from the top of the canopy where I wash them down and flood them over the balcony. Every morning, as the sun warms the transparent table on that same deck, a group of two to a dozen wasps cluster on one of the metal legs. I see others clinging to the underside of the umbrella. So, with the evening, I grasp the backyard hose and... eventually retreat to the house shivering in my wet blouse, wondering if I've finally destroyed the nest. Wherever it is. In the apex of the umbrella? In the tubing? In the (shudder) broad metal base? Still, I see the bedraggled wasps silhouetted against the amber clouds of sunset. (Amber? Isn't it supposed to rain tonight? Y'know: "Red sky at night; shepherds' delight"?)
Gawd, I'm tired...
Sunday Sundries — đSeason’s Greetings
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