Issue Three: Resistance Isn’t Futile

One Day, Nature Wasn’t Itself 

 It began when a hunter accidentally shot his foot. A 12-point buck nuzzled under his arm and helped him to his car.

A man pruning branches jostled a hornet’s nest. As the swarm attacked the man fell, screaming. But instead of stinging the wasps covered him like a calming blanket, their buzz a lullaby. When he awoke, the hornets were back at their hive—save one perched on his nose. Staring cross-eyed, he could swear it grinned.

Snowfalls were fluffy and never during rush hour. Rain fell when needed by farmers and flowers. But …

People looked nature’s gift in the mouth. What’s the catch? Too good to be true. There must be poison hidden in the sweet. Industries denied involvement. Religions accused each other. Conspiracy theorists pointed at the government, which blamed foreign intervention. Paranoia mounted. Words turned into weapons. Guns became bombs. We held our breath as the world teetered on the brink. Then …

A Yorkie nipped a girl’s finger. A horse bucked its rider. Tornadoes tore through the heartland. Blizzards closed highways.  

Humanity exhaled. Nature was back to being itself.  

***

We never figured out what happened. We’d always survived nature’s blows. Maybe it meant to kill us with kindness but lacked the heart. Or had too much. Perhaps it’s hoping we’ll return the favor.