Early Afternoon

It was early afternoon at the edge of the milkweed. The light was sharp but kind, carrying both the warmth of the day and a hint of late summer’s slowing pace. We had only wandered out to check the blooms while waving goodbye to our breakfast guests, expecting nothing more than color and the usual hum, but the moment held me still.

A wasp perched among the cluster of flame orange flowers. Its wings were closer to onyx, as if carved from dark glass and polished in secret. Against the blaze of petals, it looked both alien and perfect.

There was no sense of menace, only grace. The wasp moved slowly, drinking, balancing, shifting from one petal to the next. Each pause seemed to hold its own weight, like punctuation pressed into the afternoon.

The garden’s ordinary song carried on around us. Cicadas called, leaves swayed, bees moved past in their familiar dawdles. Yet the rhythm of this single wasp made all else fade, as if it had become the keeper of the hour.

When it lifted, wings flashing dark in the sunlight, I felt the absence as if a small door had closed. The flowers bent back into their own stillness. I stayed there for a while longer, with the image of onyx wings tucked into my thoughts, carrying the quiet with me.

#bluewingedwasp
#roanokeva
#backyardzoo