Part of me laments her presence, this giant, this behemoth of North American skies.  She buzzes near me on the patio with the roar of thunder emanating from her wings, her large form unmistakable and her presence welcome.

She is the largest of her kind, Sphecius speciosus, the cicada-killer wasp, and she is the first of many to come.

This colony of leviathans even now stirs to life, stretching along the entire southern end of my home from the garage to the patio.  More will arrive soon, arrive from their underground nests where they have matured since last summer, and the more will grow into a daunting aerial flood of massive wasps large enough to carry an adult cicada through the air.

I wipe a tear from my eye as she passes me, as she skirts my presence to flit across the patio toward her hunting ground.  This year may be the last for me to enjoy these unearthly creatures.

For years uncounted these insects have been my favorite, my companions, my fascination with that which threatens me most.  Because ant and wasps stings carry a poison my body cannot tolerate, these flying monsters pose a clear danger to me.

Yet I fear them not one bit.  I have lived with them for some time and have grown to trust them implicitly.  Only knowledge makes that possible.

Because I expect this to be my last summer here amongst these winged titans, my tear comes not for the short end I know this creature will meet when her duty is complete, when all her eggs are carefully laid and her nest dutifully secured, but instead I find myself longing for her presence in a future time when her offspring will rule these skies in my absence.

So, summer flyers, welcome!  I am your friend, your advocate, your consummate protector and ally, and you shall enjoy the fruit of the season so long as I am here.  Enamor me with your antics, impress me with your intimidating size, offer me this final encounter throughout which I might wallow in the joy that comes with your company.

And think not that I mourn for the short life I know you live.  Instead, know that I shed tears since I face a road ahead that lacks the promise of your kinship.

— — — — — — — — — —

Some notes:

[1] I face this wasp season with unbounded excitement.  The opportunity to capture images with my new camera offers me a renewed anticipation of the pleasure I glean from the limited time we share.

[2] Equally, the precipice this summer intimates is one which I may never cling to again.  I have mixed emotions about seeing her this afternoon, and about the unstoppable hourglass now set in motion—both by this first confirmed meeting and my inevitable move away from this place, this city, this region.

[3] I thought a few days ago that I saw a cicada killer flit by me as I stood on the patio.  Peripherally seen and not confirmed, however, I can only say I suspected their time had come but could not confirm it until now.