FANTASY

"The Brobdingnagian Bumblebee Ride"

It has been a long, hot summer day. The grassy meadows, dotted with fragrant flowers, swept endlessly from the realm of my vision. The towering canopy of the cottonwood made a welcome shade from the sultry sun. I lay back to reflect on the billowing clouds as balmy breezes elicited from the leaves a whispered invitation to … my eyelids flutter.

A giant bumblebee!  As the wind increases,  I am aware of a sound like enormous fans steadily droning.  As quickly as it began
the gigantic rush of air stops.  The bumblebee has landed.  In a wordless,  yet comprehensible language,  I am beckoned
to climb astride this marvelous specimen.  How can I resist?  A series of randomly but closely spaced stepping
stones,  varying in height,  serves as a ladder.  The ascent is slow as I am held in almost motionless
rapture of this incredulous creature before me.  Magnificently translucent taper-tipped
wings powering a body with alternating bands of gold and ebony.
The countless multicoloured hues of fine body hair were as

a plush carpet of velvety softness.

I eagerly took up my position and settled in for the ride of a lifetime.
Once airborne,  I was finally able to loosen my somewhat tenacious grip on the fine
hairs closest to me and revel anew.  Words alone could never express the panorama I beheld.
The misguided butterflies suddenly present in my stomach informed me of a slow descent.  My eyes were greeted
by a wondrous congregation of bumblebees reaching out as far as the eye could see.  I was to be an honored guest at
this most momentous occasion.  I knew this without really knowing how I knew.  The opening hum-a-long was a soft droning
as if to coordinate all present for each bee became poised for whatever purpose lay ahead.  Next they began a tacit chant:

Awake our souls and with the dew,
Start each and every day as one sparkling new.
Shake off dull sloth and joyful fly,
To yawning flowers stretched proud and high.
Let idle wayfarers laze on past,
Treasure each moment and day as the last.
Improve thy talent with great zest,
Lest we become known in our world as pests.
Make all your commune, genuine,  sincere,
Enhance each thought,  keep it clear.
Think how all-seeing,  sunlit thy ways
Awake,  lift up thyselves and soar
We leave as one,  begin as a roar.
Our work,  our toils,  labour unseen
To humbly submit,  Eternal Queen.

A hush fell over the throng.
A menacing silence.
Something is there,
in the air,
poignant,
but I cannot quite make it out.  And then
… KINKAJOU …
but who,  what,  is a Kinkajou?  My thoughts were left unanswered.  An ominous dread remained.

Each bee was assigned its duties for the day.  One by one,  for my benefit,  as the rush of wind from their combined take off would have sent me spiraling,  the crowd dispersed.  My host remained.  I was summoned again,  this time by name.  Something occurred to me.  Does my host have a name?  It came to me,  Kanaka.  Named so because of Kanaka's brilliantly radiant gold colouring.  Kanaka was no ordinary humble bumblebee,  size aside.  The prestigious duty of a royal courtier of the gods was assigned to this bee.  Kanaka had the renowned task of delivering the drink of the gods,  Nectar.  It was said that Nectar was an elixir of life.  Handed down from the ancients came nektar.  Nek (related to nekros,  corpse) and tar (related to tarati,  he overcomes).  To overcome death the gods relied on the service of the bumblebee.  With a thrill of anticipation I scurried to Kanaka's side and proceeded to mount.

A distant yet deafening roar electrified me into misplacing my steps.
I shook off the chill that radiated through me enough to recover and stagger to my original flight seat.
I had only just fallen into position when a rumbling and shaking,  that came from the ground,
sent Kanaka into vibrating,  but instantaneous flight,
away from a sudden greyish-brown blur that emanated a feeling of death …
KINKAJOU!
Horrified,  I threw myself forward.

Perspiration rolled down my cheeks, the gentle breeze, cool and refreshing, eased the fresh furrows on my forehead, the once oppressively hot sun sinking slowly on the horizon. It is supposed to be hot again tomorrow!

ξ ξ ξ

(created by)
Stacy L. Hird
[Note: The idea for the poem is from a prayer, now long forgotten. Words were changed to suit the story.]