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A BUMBLEBEE REMEMBERS THE WISDOM OF A DEPARTED FRIEND
The Last Asters
The Vignette Gazette Edition #277 | dead
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The frost caught me by surprise. One moment I was tucked beneath an aster bloom, dreaming in the cold gray hours before dawn. The next, I could barely move my wings. I clung to a stem while the garden sparkled with frost.
Then a kind lady found me.
She cupped me gently in her hands and carried me into a sunny spot beside the house. The warmth seeped into my fuzzy body. Slowly, my legs stirred. My wings hummed.
As I waited, I looked across the garden. Violet-colored asters nodded in the breeze. My pals were already visiting them, gathering the season’s last nectar.
The sight brought back a memory. In my flashback, the garden blazed in the summer. Flowers crowded every corner. Bees like me buzzed shoulder to shoulder among the blooms. I remember landing beside an older bumblebee whose wings were tattered from months of work.
“Enjoy the asters when they come,” he told me. “They’re the lanterns at the end of the year.”
At the time, I didn’t understand.
