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Autumn bee
Oct. 3rd, 2014 02:45 pmIt's a short walk to the train station. I always glance at the ground a lot as I walk, which is why I notice the bumblebee. She is crouched motionless on the sidewalk, six inches or so from the edge. I'm not sure she's alive, so I kneel and touch her. She moves her legs, clearly upset, but uncoordinated; she keels to one side, unable to walk, let alone fly away.
Maybe she's hurt, although her body looks perfect and unharmed. Perhaps she's just old, shutting down and dying. Or maybe it's just too chilly to function for a tiny creature that isn't warm-blooded, and she needs a milder day to be able to fly home. Whether just cold, or dying, the sidewalk seems like a horrible place to wait for what comes next. Not because of the danger of human feet, but because she's in the open, on something that is not of nature. I know I think too much: her brain is not capable of dread, maybe not even of true fear. Maybe. But what if?
And that's why this afternoon, I knelt on a sidewalk, nudged an addled bee onto an oak leaf by touching her butt with another oak leaf, and set her four feet away on the grass under a tree. Maybe she's dying, maybe already dead as I write, but at least she has sprigs of green around her and over her, earth at her unsteady feet. To the extent that she can tell the difference between "exposed" and "sheltered," she hopefully feels safer, or just less unsafe.
Maybe she's hurt, although her body looks perfect and unharmed. Perhaps she's just old, shutting down and dying. Or maybe it's just too chilly to function for a tiny creature that isn't warm-blooded, and she needs a milder day to be able to fly home. Whether just cold, or dying, the sidewalk seems like a horrible place to wait for what comes next. Not because of the danger of human feet, but because she's in the open, on something that is not of nature. I know I think too much: her brain is not capable of dread, maybe not even of true fear. Maybe. But what if?
And that's why this afternoon, I knelt on a sidewalk, nudged an addled bee onto an oak leaf by touching her butt with another oak leaf, and set her four feet away on the grass under a tree. Maybe she's dying, maybe already dead as I write, but at least she has sprigs of green around her and over her, earth at her unsteady feet. To the extent that she can tell the difference between "exposed" and "sheltered," she hopefully feels safer, or just less unsafe.
