In ancient Egyptian mythology, Thoth (pronounced Tuh-Hot) is the divine inventor of writing. He’s that human shaped god with the head of an ibis, though sometimes he’s a full-on ibis, or a baboon with a paint brush. The ibis and the baboon were both sacred to Thoth. It’s never stated whether or not Thoth invented paper (or the ancient Egyptian equivalent, dried papyrus) but it stands to reason that he might have…unless, of course, there’s an unknown ancient Egyptian deity responsible for that. If so, I’d wager that such a deity is probably represented by a paper-wasp of some sort: a yellow-jacket, a bald-faced hornet, or something equally impressive. (Bald-faced hornets, much like yellow-jackets are shameless iced-tea-pirates, and notoriously hyperactive whenever a camera lens attempts to focus on them) As I’m a writer, I tend to think of the connections between the actual craft of writing, and the traditional medium through which it is expressed. Even in this largely digital age, I still associate writing with paper, even if it’s digital writing on digital paper. These thoughts of writing and paper, always bring me to the subject of books, and of many of the world’s most profound riches: so many of which exist only as words on paper. It isn’t surprising to me, then, that yellow-jacket (and bald-faced hornet) nests are composed of that stuff I love writing on—maybe my existence on the paper-wasp No Sting List exists because of my love of paper. Yellow-jackets and bald-faced hornets (don’t all insects have bald faces?) probably think that my love of paper reflects a love of their own meticulously-built nests. Admittedly, and fortunately, social wasps are in the habit of building some of the most intriguing nests the world has ever seen…and they do it largely thorough the act of scraping, chewing, and spitting. How cool is that?! Winter has come to Chicago now, and so the surviving wasps are in various burrows, sleeping until next spring. Most of the sleeping wasps are queens, and a few males…not many, but enough for next year. As a result of that, last summer’s nests are as empty as this example here. I know that I’ll see more yellow-jackets (and bald-faced hornets) but I must endure a winter without them. I’m sure that such a measure of anticipation will simply increase my ability to find new, active nests…next year. And until then, I hope that you enjoy this inactive (and rather well developed) nest remnant. I hope that you’re all having a great weekend, and as always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting. I’ve had an extremely hectic (and absolutely insane) week, and so it might be a short time before I can catch up with viewing and commenting, but rest assured, I’m at least peeking in on the galleries and I hope to do some commenting tonight.