the Hornet's Nest

I remember that Summer when we were bored
starving for something exciting to do.
The hot Summer day bearing down upon us.
We stole away with inner tubes on our backs.
We made our way down the path to Cowiche creek.
Our parents not knowing where we were going,
for if they knew they would not let us go.

There was Monty, Ernie, my brother and I.
We wore tennis shoes and cut offs with no shirts,
our skin already dark brown though Summer
was not yet in full affect. We came to the creek
tied the tubes with bailing twine turning
into a make shift raft. We pushed it into
the eddies then jumped on beginning
our make shift rafting tour.

There were stories my father told us about monsters
and bad men to help keep us from going too far
from the house. We floated past our fishing hole
where we brought home two pound brown trout,
but that day we wanted to explore so on we went.
There were places along the stream we had not seen.
even my brother worried, which only beckoned
us to go on. No one wanted to be called chicken.
We flowed down the stream where it joined another
stream and became a river. As we drifted faster

Then around a small bend in the river we ran into it.
Right where the river slowed hanging from the branch
of a part way fallen aspen tree two feet above the water.
It was at least two feet wide and two feet long.
There must have been a thousand soldiers in that nest.
In a short second we all stopped breathing as we flowed
too fast to dive off. All we could do is lie still
and hope for the best.

The hornets seemed oblivious to our presence.
My eyes wide open as I flowed directly under the hive.
They were busy providing food going to and fro.
A few hovered over my nose, as I held my breath,
but they flew off to do other things.

As soon as we thought we were clear
my brother shot a splash of water at the nest
out of pure youthful stupidity I suppose.
The retaliation was immediate as the hornets
stung each of us several times. We jumped
over bored but the water was now shallow.
The hornets buzzed just above the ripples
like fighter pilots searching to kill the remains
of a defeated army.

We managed to reach the shore and ran through the brush
regrouping in a meadow over a hundred feet from the nest.
We tried to recapture our breath and tend to our wounds
red and swollen. Luckily none of us were allergic.
Our raft now floating out of sight down the river.
We could still hear the buzz from the angry nest.

We slowly began making our way home
nursing our wounds at least five stings each
and silently cussing my big brother.
It was almost dark buy the time we made it.
We got a good but chewing from our parents,
but that did not hurt as much as the stings.
I still remember that day and that misadventure.
We never went that far down stream again.
I am sure each of us has a great respect for hornets:
And I still think my brother is the dumbest person in the world.