Honey Bee In the Espresso

It was late on a Friday afternoon, and I was sitting outside the cafe with a small cup of espresso. I was on my way home, glad that this intense week was winding down. The moment was rare, a spring blend of cool and warm; mountains rose in front of me as the setting sun painted the ridges and canyons. I sat ruminating on the regrets and broken pieces of my life, scribbling away in my journal, when a nice looking honey bee landed on the rim of the cup and promptly descended along the steep wall of porcelain. After a few moments, I checked on her. Sure enough, there she was, drowning in dense umber. I got my pen and fished her out, poor thing. She had been blinded by the muddy bloom and could not fly. She buzzed her wings and flipped over on her back, her abdomen threatening to sting anything that got close enough to impale. I carefully used the pen to right her. Breathe, I said to her, breathe. She stood on the glass table top and seemed crippled. One of her legs wasn't working. It looked like she was going to expire, slowly, and come to her demise right there. But, as I watched her closely, she found some strength and stood. I saw her long tongue extend as she calmly cleaned off her eyes and antennae. That took some work, some patience. Her wings too, seemed to be clearing up, or at least drying off. She buzzed them with practice runs. When a gust of air blew her off the table, she caught the currents and flew back into the rest of her life, a bit over-dosed on caffeine, perhaps.