Bee, Buzzed?
Today I dined outdoors in White Rock. The weather was fabulous. But the rain could start any day. Better enjoy the beach now.
I sat on the deck at Cosmos Restaurant to eat bean soup and mark my papers. A bee circled the sweet alyssum blooming in the planter boxes, sniffed my pita bread and flew off.
Dreamily, I watched the Amtrack train slide past along the beach while I had coffee and dessert. Topped with whipped cream and drizzled with orange liqueur, the creme caramel was delicious. When I set the empty plate aside, the bee came back. The cointreau must have smelled better than the alyssum. He buzzed around, then landed on the rim and advanced gingerly toward the puddle of liqueur.
I watched his little dance with fascination. Apparently sensing danger, he carefully avoided wading into the sticky puddle. Instead, he travelled carefully around the plate to find the best position from which to sip safely.
So many times I have watched bees; yet never have I observed one so closely or for so long. While he sipped the sweet treat, he held his feelers out at right angles to his body and his wings in close to his back. His abdomen wiggled as he drank. Apian ecstasy?
When he was done, he rose and made a slow lazy circle. He was moving like a heavily loaded cargo plane, climbing laboriously before he flew off. Was he buzzed?