I didn't know wasps were living high in the black cherry tree just east of the living room window until the leaves were gone and I saw their nest. Like wood ash pasted together into a wrinkled paper, like a bubble blown out of gray silk, like a small, dark balloon caught in the tree--there it was. I had visions of getting it down and bringing it indoors, an objet d'art for the winter, but it was too high. I watched all winter as gradually it began to break apart, small bits of it drifting down onto the snow like pieces of half-burned waste paper. I didn't see it crash. The papery outer layer landed about ten feet from the inner hive, pictured here in all of its wonderful complexity.

Why create such a complicated house when no honey is being stored? I think of this when I think about why people build such complicated houses--houses much bigger than the people who live in them actually need most of the time. Our houses are built for eventualities: for Christmas dinner, for a graduation party, for when the relatives come to stay. The rest of the time, we use only a fraction of our space. Wasps, too, build for eventuality--the eventual, yearly, need to preserve the queen so that she can hibernate and produce a few other queens to perpetuate the species. All of the worker bees perish. On the other hand, wasps use every millimeter in their houses, with every worker bee contributing to the continuance of the hive. Altruism or just genetics? Whatever the case, the hive returns to the earth just as our houses of wood return to the earth, except that ours probably make a louder crash.

The wasps in this fallen nest are dead and gone, the queen is off somewhere hibernating, but I still do not want to pick up this little architectural masterpiece, memories of summer stings being what they are. Since it is lying on the path behind my shade garden, I will have to pick it up and move it eventually--but I will probably use a shovel. I think of burying it, but then realize that if left alone somewhere it will probably provide valuable food for some other creature. Today, while the sun is warm and the snow is melting, I will carry it into the woods and set it down for the ages, however long the ages might be for wasps. Time is what we make of it.