Last night over dinner with friends, talk turned to bees.
Or more specifically, yellow jackets. They had discovered two giant hives below the balcony off their deck and took on the dangerous task of getting rid of them. Fortunately, no one got stung. I recalled an incident when I was a child running across the front lawn of our house on Elizabeth Street in Grimsby and landing my little bare foot on the bum of a bumblebee. For a flash I was lost in that moment. I remembered what I was wearing and the feeling of running, barefoot, on the grass lost in the carefree bliss of being a kid – until I hit the bee.
I’m back on my regular airshift as of today. The alarm goes off at 6:11 and the last time I was in this routine, I swear it was bright out by that time. Today I woke up in the dark and I had a brief moment of confusion. It took me back to the days when I got up at 2:30 am as a rule and I’d wake up from an afternoon nap momentarily confused about what time it was. Ah the change of seasons – so familiar and yet so strange! One minute you’re enjoying the summer and the next, you’re hopping into the house crying, with a stinger in your foot.