Religion
An offering to the gods. Winter is coming and the wasps can tell. They used to tolerate my working near them but last week one stung me on top of my head. To be fair I think it got stuck in my hair, but nonetheless, they’ve become more erratic with the approach of winter. I’ve stopped working outside. I thought the first frost might kill them but there they were the next morning, flying about, in and out of their home in the stone wall. In the mornings we have to be careful not to turn on the outdoor light, or else they’ll swarm it, crawl inside of it, and get stuck. They like the light and its warmth, but it’s not good for them, not natural in the morning darkness.
I’ve tried to offer them food before but never had a bite. When autumn starts to settle in the queen leaves and the remaining workers start to starve, I read, so I thought why not one more chance. One big red cherry in a small little bowl, placed just outside of their entryway. I watched for a while and nothing. They flew in and out without a care for the cherry. But when I went to take the bowl in at 7pm, the cherry was all but gone. Just a sliver of red with little pecked pieces.
Each day now I leave an offering. And each day it’s picked to nothing. One cherry for my wasps.
Boiling the Kettle
I've boiled the kettle four times today. A cup of tea would be nice. I’ll go pee, maybe make dinner, paint one more tiny section. It’ll boil for a minute or two. I’ll come back when I hear it. I remember a lot of things. I remember peoples names and their birthdays and what they did last week and last month. I remember what to get at the store and when I have an appointment. I remember everything I regret and also every time I was brave. I remember to wash the dishes and to make you dinner. I remember parts of people that they’ve forgotten and each place that I’ve been. But I boiled the kettle four times today, and yesterday twice. Last week it was six. There’s something hard about taking care of yourself sometimes.
To return to the past, to repeat, is to close the loop. To learn from the past, to grow on wards is to continue the spiral.