Saturday, 14 May 2011
The Bumble Bee
Yesterday I found a bee, a bumble bee, life had quite flown from it. I don't know why I picked it up and brought it home. I placed it upon a piece of crumpled soft white paper and put it on the kitchen windowsill so that I could look at it as I worked. It wasn't even a ghost of itself. It was an empty shell, an empty shell shrouded in sadness as its beauty lingered. I touched the velvet of its back and the fragility of its transparent wings. Now it can only decay. I can capture it on film or a drawing but I cannot breathe life back into its form. It has gone forever.
Today I walked in the Greenwood along the path through the tunnel of trees. The wind roared through the treetops creating a malevolence that was palpable. I shivered but not from the cold. There was a presence, as if a thousand tiny eyes were watching me and there were rustlings in the undergrowth and odd creepings through the vines. A robin watched me warily from a branch and a blackbird with a beak full of grubs for its young stopped in her tracks. A tiny rabbit, new to the world, fled down a bank in fear as I walked along the path. Then crack, a cumbersome pigeon defying gravity shot into the air like a cannon ball and flew up the rise barely missing the top of my head. I drew in a sharp breath and made for a sunny clearing to escape from intruding irrational thoughts.
Tomorrow I shall wrap the bumble bee in a shroud of muslin and carry him back to the Greenwood and hide him under a pall of dry brown leaves. I shall have given the Greenwood back her own. The spell will be broken and peace restored. We are never far from enchantment if we have the eyes to see.