Why Did the Wasp Choose Me to Witness Its Death?

I was working on my computer when a playful wasp appeared on my desk. I knew I was safe—I’m used to the wasps here. They’ve never stung me or shown any aggression. They simply exist around me, as gentle and curious as butterflies.

I was deeply focused on my screen when something drew my eyes to the neck of my Mac. There it was: a beautiful wasp resting quietly, its wings slowly opening and closing, as if breathing.

The next time I looked—only minutes later—it was dead.

Seeing this small, beautiful insect lying there filled me with an unexpected grief, strong enough that I felt compelled to write about it immediately. I’m writing this just minutes after it happened. Curious, I searched online for the average lifespan of a wasp and found this:

“Wasps typically live for a few weeks to a year, depending on their role in the colony. Worker wasps live for only 12–22 days, focusing on foraging and nest care. Queen wasps live for about one year, hibernating over winter to start new colonies in the spring. Males (drones) live just long enough to mate in the fall.”

I don’t know how true that is for my little companion, or even what species it was. But it brought me to think about time itself. I have long felt that time is not truly linear—that it moves differently for different species, perhaps even for humans.

I’ve always sensed this about time, yet I still don’t fully grasp it. It feels like something I once knew but somehow forgot along the way.

And so I return to this beautiful, playful wasp—who, to me, seemed more like a tiny fairy. What had this remarkable being experienced during its brief life? Within its own measure of time, were its moments as rich and full as ours are to us?

So many questions. 🐝✨