The Bird and the Bee

I saw the creature that baffles scientists go about its day with a smug look and a strut instead of a walk. If I was a scientist –not saying there is absolutely no possibility that my profession could be considered a science– I’m positive it would have zoomed about my head buzzing mocking jeers and laughing in my perplexed face. But as it was I was not a scientist; at least not those that pride themselves in wearing crisp white lab coats. That, my friends, is a wonder in itself, how do they keep them so crisp and clean as they work? It begs the question of whether anything is getting done at all, really.

Off that slug trail, for it really was going nowhere, and at a slow pace at that; I shall tell you that the very creature in question –yes, the one that boggles minds and puzzles scientists– is the bumble bee. Aye, the plump, yellow and black insect that lives in its own spit-up paper. It perches atop exotic and native flowers alike, very much like a gargoyle, and forages the ingredients for honey like it was a one-day sale in tourist season. Then it takes off and repeats the process upon another flower.

This process could be creatively compared to “Black Friday” and the entire buzz that surrounds that particular fanatic scramble. However, I don’t believe they would have nearly the aggression, I mean, they stab someone with their weapon and they kick the pollen fluff! Our extreme shoppers have no such restraints.

I was just waiting for it, the moment when the bee would go zany and attack anything in sight with a berserk rivaling an angry Norski. That was the time when I knew something quite exciting would happen. One really must see that moment; it is such an amazing display. But I must recommend not being in direct sight or anywhere nearby, if you know what I mean.

Crouched low between the Blueberry bush and the Huckleberry perched upon its natural stumpy throne; I counted on my left hand the seconds until the final moment. I was an eager observer that knew what the laws of nature would unfold to, and I relished in the very idea of what was going to happen next. Hopefully the bee was going to put up a fight to be remembered, unlike past bees that went without a chance.

The moment came and the bee was positively hopping mad. It gave a feral buzz and zipped about without a direction in his mind. It had one purpose then, and that was to find a target to stab and mutilate with the dagger it was born with. There really was no reason for this, but one could assume that the buzz of its wings slowly drove it nuts, or perhaps it has one point in its life where it finally cracks and stings the nearest creature. Then again, maybe it’s just an angry bee.

The bee bounced off glass panes with a tink sound, too consumed in its berserker rage to notice that the pain it experienced was of its own doing. It was engulfed in even more violent anger; this was a spiraling snowball that never stopped gaining momentum. Soon, it was creating such a ruckus that there was no doubt that its reign of anger was going to end soon. Thankfully I wasn’t involved any more than an observing ghost, but I still knew what was going to happen next.

There was a flutter of wings and an avian swooped down from the branch it too had been observing and waiting from. I was on the edge of my toes, leaning forward and watching with bated breath. This was it, the final moment. With beak stretched wide, wings out full, and malice in his eyes… the avian ate the bee. I sighed in deep disappointment. Ah, well, what else is a gardener supposed to do?