Ishmael Dreaming

 Across the living room from where I sit typing, I can see a dead bee.

I presume it is dead. It isn't moving. It used to move. Now it does not.

I noticed it a couple of days ago, on Friday I think. It was buzzing rather animatedly, and understandingly, considering its plight. Somehow, it had managed to be trapped in the small space between the inside of the glass of the closed window and the panel of perspex that happens to be installed over these particular windows as an additional type of insulation. The window cannot be opened without removing this perspex, which is a tricky affair. I couldn't do it myself, and my dad didn't have time.

I watched the poor thing a little. It's large, and I like bees, and they're rare, and they strike me as beautiful and kind. 

And then I forgot about it. And now it's dead. I feel sad, and I wonder how it got in there, and I wish I had bothered to save its life.