The Queen and I

There is a queen wasp in the corner of my front door.  She has been there for three weeks.  Slowly working away on her paper nest for her new wasp colony.  Everyday she works with diligence, intensity and determination.  Building that nest is everything to her. It is survival for her and the continuation of her lineage.  It is necessary and it is poetic.  And everyday when I leave for work I destroy her labor with the flick of my finger.  There is no way I want a wasp nest hanging by my front door!  For three weeks this dance has continued.  The Queen works assiduously on her kingdom oblivious to the fact that later that evening it will be gone and she has to start again.  I am not sure if the Queen is even aware that I am sabotaging her efforts.  Is she even conscious to the fact that she is beginning over and over again?  Or is the Queen’s memory limited to only the location of her nest and not her progress?  In either case, building that nest is her only concern.  She is relentless and unwavering in her pursuit of building her castle.  I actually admire her.  There is nothing else in this world that I have seen that has shown me the same level of dedication that the Queen is showing.  It makes me wonder what the world would be like if everybody had the same resolve as her.  The world would definitely be a different place.  For the better, I cannot say, but different nonetheless.  Her fortitude seems like a rare character trait that should be celebrated.  However, I do not want a wasp colony on my doorstep and see little recourse at this point but to commit an act of regicide.  I do waver in my verdict though; it seems odd to reward her determination with death.  I argue with myself that I am confusing instinct for passion, that the Queen is nothing more then an insect operating on the biological need to procreate.  I attempt to convince myself that the species will continue without this particular being.  I assuredly retort that humans are a quintessential source of malevolence, whose impact on this world is nothing short of catastrophic and should cease.  That one being is still a being and humans should have no right to decide the fate of others simply because their existence is an inconvenience.  I deliberate for days, fraught with a moral dilemma many wouldn’t have even bothered to conceive.  Finally, my impiety prevails and my ruling is eradication.  My human nature to exert supremacy over a less significant being is too great.  I give in.  I purchase a can of extra strength wasp spray.  It must be potent; the Queen does not deserve anything less.  I chuckle to myself, a regal slaying by poison, a Shakespearean death, how noble.  I sit on my porch waiting for her to return to her unfinished empire.  I am patient.  I am impassive.  I am a death dealer.  I am human.  Time passes and it appears the Queen is late, though not in the apt sense of the word.  I wait for hours and she never arrives.  I wait for days and she never arrives.  It appears the Queen has abandoned her pursuit of a majestic domain in my doorway.  I am confused yet relieved.  I do not know how the Queen was aware of my plot to exterminate her. Perhaps she has a spy, an intelligent strategic move to protect her and her interests.  Perhaps she has found a better location.  In either case, I admire her more now then I ever did.  Not once did the Queen attempt to sting me for my persistent annihilation of her palace.  The Queen only acted with a quiet dignity and attentiveness that would be expected of royalty.  I realize that I actually have found respect for her.  That night I looked to the sky and wished her luck in following her nature.  With humans always acting on theirs, she needs all the help she can get.