It's a strange feeling, seeing something you've known for so long become so... different. For years, my routine has been the same. I wake up, put on my boots, and head out to the coop to collect the eggs. It's a peaceful part of my day, a simple act of gathering the fruits of our free-range chickens' labor.
But the typhoon changed everything. It didn't just knock down trees and tear at our roofs; it seemed to stir up the entire world. The morning after, the land looked angry, and I felt a heavy sense of a new beginning.
My old routine called to me, so I went to the coop. I bent down to reach for a clutch of eggs, my hand already knowing the exact spot. That's when I saw them.
I froze. They weren't the harmless, buzzing bees I sometimes see. These were bigger, with that deep reddish-brown and a shocking yellow band. I knew what they were. Horners. And they were building a new home right where my chickens had their eggs. A nest of chewed-up wood fiber, a papery globe under the coop.
They weren't there before the storm. I imagine their old nest, high in a tree, was torn apart by the winds. They were just trying to survive, I guess, finding the most sheltered spot they could. And they chose my chicken coop.
One of them flew out of the nest's entrance, a sentry on duty. It hovered, a silent warning. I felt a prickle of fear, but also a sense of respect. They had lost their home and found a new one, and now they were defending it.
I pulled my hand back slowly. The eggs could wait. This wasn't just my chicken coop anymore; it was their new beginning, their fortress. The storm had ended, but a new kind of story had started right beneath my feet. This is my Nature Observer story for this week and thanks for dropping by to my content.
DISCLAIMER:
I used AI to help me write the stories about the hornets and to confirm the species. The information and creative writing were generated by the AI, and I have edited and approved the final result.
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