'Are you a bee or a wasp?' I think at it.
As if it senses my unease and responds, it rises from hovering near the jade plant at the edge of my front veranda and heads over to the bushes by the fence. I sip my coffee and read about writing haibun.
A little later it returns. It lands on a jade leaf, walks underneath it, and strokes the upside with its fine front legs.
'I'm glad to see you, bee,' I think this time.
I know they are said to be dying out. If they do, it is further said, we shall all be doomed.
I contemplate the tree growing tall by my fence. I know it's a weed — one I didn't catch and pull out while it was still a baby, and look at it now! It's beautiful. It's hard to know how to serve Nature best.
The wind freshens, the thunder revs up. It's time to go inside. The rain will be humid.
in my living-room
the painting of an angel
a sweet sad face