#167 The Bee Hung On

by Linda Lamon

Ruth lay in bed and observed the motionless bumble bee that had attached itself to the wicker garden furniture. Was it dead? Had it gone back into hibernation?

From her position next to the large patio doors she watched the creature’s furry body move slightly as the cold east wind blew across the tiny garden. Thick layers of milk white snow had settled overnight on the hedgerow and on the necks of the young daffodils, causing them to bend wearily.

Only two days ago, as the warm sun shone in a clear blue sky, she had watched her yellow striped friends hovering happily amongst the early spring flowers, collecting the first flush of nectar.
With sadness she now waited to witness the fate of this early riser.
The legs moved again. Only slightly.

The birds nesting in the bushes became more active as the day gave way to snowless branches, stripped by the merciless March breeze. Another minuscule shift. And the bee hung on.

The following day, the sun was shining brightly on the south facing sheltered space where the insect had found refuge. Ruth opened the curtains, welcomed the day and tentatively glanced towards the spot where her companion had been perching patiently; The daffs stood tall and danced with the wild wind. The sparrows, tits, wrens and fieldfare flew fitfully, making up for lost mating time.

And the bee was gone.