``Remember the bees?'' you used to ask when we'd meet, bring back the time you visited overnight. Remember the noise, the onslaught of the swarm, from the window we opened wide because it was so warm?
Their hidden oval, papery nest hung in the eaves outside the bedroom they stormed
to make us scream like the little girls we were, although usually unfazed by insects that could fly or creep.
They were wasps, of course, complaining of the light and sound we made, taking quick advantage of the passageway.
We did not know the word for hornets' nest, nor did we fear their sting. We were happy just to postpone sleep
and watch our parents rush to save us from anything that could intrude or invade.