“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them — words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.”
-Stephen King, Different Seasons
Two weeks ago we were at my mother’s house and this little guy was on the other side of the fence. Now, mind you, she doesn’t live out in the sticks somewhere near farms and the like. No, she lives about 2 miles from uptown Charlotte and this fella and his family hang out in the greenway that runs along the back of her property.
Mere moments after our brief encounter where I stood in frozen amazement and he nibbled on leaves and pooped, I was attacked by a nest of hornets as I swung an axe at a seemingly empty tree stump. My aim was to determine the size of it minus the dirt on the bottom, but instead things turned into an episode of Billy the Exterminator.
All I could think was, “They’ve tagged me with pheromones! I’ve got to get out of here before they all attack me!”
And so, in the brief period of five minutes, nature went from something beautiful and majestic to Yakety Sax playing as I ran around the yard swatting at small, angry insects.