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as we paused to enjoy the breeze a bit, great horned owl watched with passivity. the little yellow lady bug performed a little aerial ballet. and apache tommyhawk made a bee-line to the buzzy bug that landed on the chair next to him. with a za-swat, he wacked the effer and the bee took off, careening from the walloping and making note not to return to patch's terrortory. me: "wow. good work my brave little trooper! but that bug is dangerous. keep an eye trained yet do step back and let it spin on through." apache: "I smell a story." and so he did. "my good friend spanky had an allergy to insects like that one. they are called bees. humans carry medicine in their toolbelts to take care of any problems they encounter as far as stings from the little zappers. idk but everybody has an allergy to this or that. his was to bees and their bite. well, one instance, about last year this time of year, peter was walking about his life. doing this or that. his life ended abruptly. not a minor disappearance of his accord, yet a full-on onslaught that took his ever so very special life. the ending came. he was attacked by not one, not even three or four, but a swarm of bees so virulent that he was unable to use even his guarded warden - the antidote - to stop the allergens from muffling out his spark. he passed away from the overwhelm, as it was. I do know, mr. apache stahlman, that you have great fangy claws yet you need to always monitor your circumstances and make sure you have not only tools a'hanging from your very own utility belt, as all great super heroes do of course, but that you have... finish it...?" "mommy, that would be 'backup.' I got me lots of backup." "and so you do." and I tugged him closer for a snug, and smiled wistfully. may all your bees come one at a time. peaceout love sandy |
this parable dedicated to my friend, Peter Sitzman, in memorial.
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email me: sandra@stahlman.com