Nothing is better than a nice walk in the cool evening air. I have taken literally hundreds of these walks in my lifetime. Over the course of these walks, I have seen a great deal of suburban wildlife. This walk would be no different.
I came across a bee. Normally the sight of a bee would cause me to turn around and leave that area. This particular bee, though lay nearly motionless under a bush, just off of the sidewalk. There, a once majestic flying pest laid, the end of its life near.
It was a sad sight to see. Just a day ago, this very bee was no doubt flitting through the air, its tiny wings propelling it small, striped body. Now, though, it was just a reminder of the futility of life, particularly for those of us who happen to be insects.
For a second, I watched it struggle. Looking into its eyes (or at least the area where I would assume the eyes are located), you could tell that there was so much this bee had wanted to do. Maybe it had dreamed of collecting pollen abroad in Europe. It would float through the lilies of France or the Irish Butterworts. Then, for the rest of its bee life (approximately 3-4 weeks) it would talk about its time spent overseas.
Maybe it wanted to work its way up to “Worker Bee Manager” and reap all of the benefits that this type of position would bring. The bee would get up every morning and put on its bee suit, head to the bee corner office and pour over the weekly production bee-ports. It would save up to buy the dream bee house and put its bee children in bee braces. No one likes a bee would crooked teeth.
This bee could have been in the midst of a spiritual journey. After all, there had to be more to life than just pollen and honeycomb. It had probably read a lot about Buddhism and found an inner-peace. Maybe it was reaching bee nirvana which is a lot like regular nirvana but smaller and full of yellow and black stripes.
In fact, this bee could have been a spiritual leader. This might have been the Mahatma Gandhi of bees. This could be the end of a long life full of groundbreaking work in the bee civil rights arena. He was probably about to die because of his hunger strike. I felt a great deal of respect for this bee’s work, ignoring the fact that I knew next to nothing about this particular bee.
I thought for a minute. Maybe I could help this bee up. We are all living creatures after all. This bee could use a hand from another being. Imagine the good juju that would come from offering my time and energy to a creature in need.
Then I remembered that bees sting. In fact, that is their favorite activity. They tend to sting people a lot because bees are jerks. So I stepped on it.
I do not care what that bee had going on. I am not getting stung.
- Swarm of homeless bees claim woman’s bike (thelocal.se)