As I am sitting on the hotel terrace and enjoying a little bit of sunshine that has visited Motovun as if by chance, a wasp falls off a chestnut tree. At first I think it is dead. After a short while, though, it springs to its feet. And then it starts walking between tables. Every now and then, it stops and tries its wings. They seem not to work as well as they should. Having walked some more, it stops again and starts lifting its tail. Having done this several times, it resumes walking again. It hops from time to time to try its wings anew. It flips on its back on occasion, but it flips back on its feet soon afterwards. And it keeps walking and walking. Waiters walk past it again and again, but the wasp goes through its motions unharmed. It walks and hops and flips and lifts its tail time and time again. By and by, it reaches one of the busiest parts of the terrace. And one of the waiters eventually steps on it without even noticing it. Only a smudge remains. Seeing me, the waiter smiles. I smile back with feeling. The savior.