So It Goes (A Vision of Summer in the Dead of Winter)

There was a giant wasp suction-cupped to the window. I propped open a porch door to let it escape and headed out with the dogs before heat amassed. The wasp was nowhere to be seen when I returned, though two fulsome sparrows had managed to fly into this super-sized cage. They knocked against the taut screen, flapping around, alighting on chairs, oblivious to the rectangular wedge of open air. I retreated to my study—returning to a book on writing, I looked up the role of parataxis and hypotaxis in sentence structure—hoping by the time I returned the birds would have made the discovery. An hour later, one sparrow remained. It was perched on a side table, no doubt exhausted from its effort. The dogs had slipped in and were sniffing around, unaware of the resting bird. I made some coffee, getting lost in the pouring. When I stepped back in the coop, it appeared the bird had flown. I was free to sip my coffee in the sun. That is, until one of the dogs threw up two small piles of half-digested kibble. It took some time to knife out the mush seeping through the floorboards. Finally, I was ready to sit back down to work. Computer and books spread out before me on the table, I typed a long ambling sentence about something or other before looking up into the sun to find the wasp buzzing on the screen in front of me. I retrieved a small bowl and placed it over the insect, lightly, then slipped a sheet of paper behind. Stepping out, lifting the paper away, lightly tapping the bowl…the wasp flew off, disappearing into the trees like a miniature sparrow.