The Bee and the Keychain
Cold enough that bees shouldn’t still be flying.
I stop at the supermarket, get back on my motorbike
and a bee follows me.
Then I notice my keychain, bright and colorful,
swinging in the wind.
She thinks it’s a flower.
I watch her circle, desperate for nectar
that isn’t there.
She’s near the end of her short life,
still searching for something that will feed her.
And I think
we’re not so different.
We chase colors, screens, symbols,
things that shine but don’t nourish.
Like that bee,
we mistake the imitation for the real
and call it life.