My sister plays outside on the entryway steps as I write in my journal. Every so often she waltzes back in, after another toy, leaving the door wide open, letting the outside in and the inside out.
Then, she runs in shouting. The dog’s caught a wasp, she’s worried about it stinging him. I pick up a shovel to put the wasp out of its misery, but then I see the way it struggles on the second step, dragging its wings along the stone, falling to the third. The way she shields the dog from it, it from the dog, gives me pause. The wasp finds its way into a crack in the pavement, safe from my shovel and I explain that it won’t bother her again, that animals seek out seclusion when they know they’re going to die.
Then, she runs in shouting. The dog’s caught a wasp, she’s worried about it stinging him. I pick up a shovel to put the wasp out of its misery, but then I see the way it struggles on the second step, dragging its wings along the stone, falling to the third. The way she shields the dog from it, it from the dog, gives me pause. The wasp finds its way into a crack in the pavement, safe from my shovel and I explain that it won’t bother her again, that animals seek out seclusion when they know they’re going to die.
