The Lake, the Bee, and the Crash

The sun poured herself across the lake,  

a golden embrace I pedaled through,  

my bike humming beneath me—  

a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat,  

or a sailboat cutting the water's edge.  

The air smelled of pine and summer,  

the shore whispering its rocky secrets,  

and I was nowhere but there,  

completely lost in the endless blue—  

fingers of clouds combing the sky.  

Then, out of nowhere, a bee arrived,  

a daredevil with wings and no boundaries.  

It zipped towards me with conviction,  

right up my right nostril, as if invited.  

I swerved, the world tilting and spinning.  

Gravity grabbed me by the shoulders,  

and I dove into the rocks, laughing,  

though my skin kissed every jagged edge.  

The bee buzzed wildly inside my skull,  

an unwelcome houseguest overstaying its welcome.  

But then, like a switch flipped,  

I laughed harder, louder—  

a siren of absurdity echoing aloud,  

till the bee, startled by joy, shot outward,  

a tiny bullet of freedom,  

leaving me breathless and alive,  

with my scraped knees grateful for the ground.