Recently I watched the spectacle of multiple drunken bees and a flower. High on nectar they danced and stupidly smiled at the beautiful Fatah Morgana. Seemingly reachable, forever untouchable.
I am a bug on a leaf and I watch. I don’t care much for pollen or any other hallucinogenic substances. Sometimes I find an overripe apple, that’s enough for me.
The flower turns its head, back and forth, facing the sun, the bees, nothing at all. Luring and provoking, caressing and charming until utter confusion of the bee. Just when they think the nectar is close, the flower delivers a striking blow.
A bee can only sting once, a flower does not even need a stinger.
A bee is a hard worker. They were born into the work, that’s just how the systems work. Forever haunted by the fragrance. Nonetheless, the flower needs the bee. In the end, it will wilt when ignored by the bee. And who wants to see that? So better watch out, flower, don’t deliver too many blows.
Me? I am just a mere spectator captivated by another ripe apple. For sure you will smell my fragrance, latest tomorrow. Or next week, for a new weekly state.
Buzz, buzz.