Bee on my Shoulder

 While I am sitting on my front porch a bee settles on the back of my neck and I freeze. I have been the unwilling companion of the bees on my porch for over a year now. Though I treat them kindly, I would rather they not be here at all. I can feel its tiny feet on my neck, exploring a section of my skin no bigger than a dime. I am hyper aware of all its small legs.

I don’t know what drew it there. I didn’t think honey bees had a proclivity for sweat, which I'm sure is on my skin, and I know for a fact that it could not be mistaken for nectar. I detected the stink of it when I was doing yoga a few minutes before. (Had I known some creature would be smelling me, I might have put on more deodorant.)

I will the bee to keep its stinger at bay, and will myself to give off only a feeling of calm. The bee spends more time exploring that dime size spot of skin. Its touch is so light that there are milliseconds that I think it has taken flight, but I know when it truly lifts off. I relax my shoulder and clutch the spot that it has finished inspecting, thanking the bee for finding me harmless.

The elements have been against me since I tried to start writing. The sun was the biggest culprit, sending hot rays beating down on me. Not horribly hot, but distracting nonetheless. The true nuisance was the light. The sun had gotten quite comfortable just above the peak of my neighbor’s house and forced me to retreat inside until it had hidden itself.

I figured that a session of yoga would give it enough time to find a hiding spot behind the house. Little did I know, the sun is capable of curve balls, and it did not take the straight path down that I had predicted but rather a sideways one in front of my neighbors house, well away from cover.

So, whatever part of my brain is responsible for problem solving took over and a lace curtain was strung up, providing lovely shadows and just enough shade to lessen my squint. Then, I sat down to write and the bee landed on me, and my original writing plan was abandoned for a story about my less than harrowing encounter with the blessings of nature.

Is there a lesson in this? Everything works out in the end. Life never takes you where you expect. Don’t write on your front porch when a hive of honey bees lives in your wall. (In my defense, they mostly leave me alone.) Not sure it really matters, but here I am. If I felt the need to write about it then there must be something to it.