Last night I dreamt I saw what I first thought was a sick bee upon the floor. So I stood on it to end its misery, but it did not die, so I stood on it a little harder, and several more times until it was squashed and dead. And I saw it was not a bee but a hornet. And then I saw another hornet fly down and smell the squashed hornet. Then it looked at me and flew away.  And soon came more hornets, looking to attack their enemy. I said to myself, “What is a hornet’s sting, unless I am allergic, which I do not think I am.”

I remained calm, accepted their presence and breathed easily while the hornets flew about, angry, vindictive, looking to inflict some pain. None stung me, although I do not know why.

I looked to where the hornets flew from and returned to. They came from down the far left corner of a long block of bushland, next to my childhood home, where I played as a child and grew up.

Then near me on the bushland block I saw a kind and sensible woman standing alone who possessed the perfect traits of womanly strength and virtue. I walked over to her and warned her of the hornets flying about, and pointed to them in the air. Then I pointed down the sloping bushland block and told her that down there in the far left corner hanging from a tree branch is the nest from which the hornets come. It is a circular nest made of paper which they make themselves from their own saliva and is shaped like an upside down teardrop.

Between the woman and myself was a sense of enduring friendship.

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