The air was cool as we sped onto the East-West Expressway, wide open on a Sunday morning. The bike's low rumble followed us as we moved from the entrance ramp to a safe lane on the highway. Just then, a small, yellow bee smacked me in the arm, and stung me immediately. It then fell to my leg, dying, only to be whisked away by the wind for an impromptu funeral. I quickly tried to move my thoughts away from the sting because I had been enjoying the ride so much. A spring, Sunday morning on an empty freeway is a wonderful place to be on the back of a motorcycle.
I started thinking about bees and why they sting. They sting, most often, when they perceive a threat to their colony. They have a sophisticated social order and the royal bees and males, don't sting. The female workers sting. ( I looked this up out of curiosity but did not spend much time studying it. If I have stated anything not factual, just know, it's close, and as someone said at some time, "It's the thought that counts.") When the bee stings, it literally stings it guts out. Nice. Then it dies.
I started thinking that I should write about bees, but I spent the day hauling bags of mulch and giving my plants some much needed attention, and the thought got away from me. This morning, I was getting ready to go to the election office to turn in signatures, when I saw something on my living room floor. It was a dying bee. That's when I curtailed going out the door, came to the computer, and started to write about the bee. I really don't have an ending to this tale except that through it all, bees started reminding me as being tremendously like humans. However, their actions are very instinctual.
We have fully developed brains.
I started thinking about bees and why they sting. They sting, most often, when they perceive a threat to their colony. They have a sophisticated social order and the royal bees and males, don't sting. The female workers sting. ( I looked this up out of curiosity but did not spend much time studying it. If I have stated anything not factual, just know, it's close, and as someone said at some time, "It's the thought that counts.") When the bee stings, it literally stings it guts out. Nice. Then it dies.
I started thinking that I should write about bees, but I spent the day hauling bags of mulch and giving my plants some much needed attention, and the thought got away from me. This morning, I was getting ready to go to the election office to turn in signatures, when I saw something on my living room floor. It was a dying bee. That's when I curtailed going out the door, came to the computer, and started to write about the bee. I really don't have an ending to this tale except that through it all, bees started reminding me as being tremendously like humans. However, their actions are very instinctual.
We have fully developed brains.
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