Thursday, September 3, 2009
I bumped into a bee this afternoon; I collided with him as I galloped to the library. He was hunting for flowers, I was thinking of books.
We did a little twirl around each other to avoid a calamity- his dance was slow and lazy, mine less so- and both emerged unscathed from the encounter.
I recalled, anyhow, being on a bus years ago and observing that one of my fellow passengers was a bee. The bee was minding its own business, as we all were, and as bees usually do. Then some fellow, no doubt fresh from the School of Flimsy Notions, decided to thump the bee with a magazine: but it was a half-hearted thump, and he hit the creature just hard enough to cause fury.
I watched the bee gather strength and vexation and set its last sights on bare limbs; quite possibly mine were under consideration. I watched the oblivious passenger settle deep into his seat, unroll the wordy weapon and proceed to read the contents, thoroughly satisfied. He forgot about the bee.
I climbed off at the very next stop and walked the rest of the way home.
Posted by Phyllis Hunt McGowan at 3:18 PM