by Randy Peters
I spy the bee flying across a small lake. His tiny near transparent wings beat a desperate drone that I can hear above the silence. My mind wonders what made him choose such a route wrought with hidden danger; one with no hope of turning back should things go wrong. He seems akin to the pioneers trekking across our great western plains, striking off into uncertainty, braving the unknown. I root for him as he draws ever closer to shore. I think he’s going to make it, this brave adventurer. I cross my fingers as he descends ever so slowly, no doubt tiring from his long journey.
I take a deep bracing draught of the muddy smelling air and hold it in anticipation. A light breeze whispers through the spruce boughs, pushing my bee off course. He soon rights, but sinks ever closer to the clear surface. I cross my fingers and say a silent prayer as he dips, skimming his tiny feet in the water. He rises slightly and pushes on, looking all the worse for wear. My heart hammers inside my chest. I know he can make it; I know he can.
The lake explodes in a violent upward burst of water. Scales glisten, a brown green tail lashes, jaws snap shut, and my bee disappears. Sadness swallows me just as the bass snapped up my bee. The futility of it all breaks my heart. I have to wonder, what was it all for?
1 comment:
Liked the descriptive nature of your story. In fact, went back and read it several times. Poor 'ol bee. What's it all for, for any of us?
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