We were shocked to realize how near we had come to catastrophe.
We had been cut off from a raging colony by a thin layer of drywall night after night. We ignored every gentle tremor and odd rattle as nothing more than a warning that we didn’t comprehend.
The room felt eerily empty after the final nest piece was removed. There was no scraping, no buzzing, no covert movement—the silence was terrible. Just the silent comfort of knowing that the danger has passed.
However, the recollection persisted.
The idea that danger may lurk so close without showing itself is unnerving. How quickly something that doesn’t belong in a home can be hidden there. And how a seemingly insignificant sound that we nearly overlooked ultimately prevented a far worse surprise.
I kept playing back the scene where the wall broke open that night as we finally slept soundly. The sight of that massive nest. the knowledge of what had been just inches away during our dreams.
Not only were we fortunate, but we were forewarned.
And we paid attention this time.
