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Little Hand

I lifted my head, about to put the next plate to the dish rack for air-drying. But my hand stopped, a bee with yellow stripes held exactly the rack where I was about to put the next plate. How did a bee come in there at late night? I had no time to figure it out because I saw the bee waving one of its little hands to me, as if reaching out for something. So I reached my hand with yellow glove to the bee. Surprisedly, the bee crawled to my glove, no hesitation in between. I got a bee on my finger! I walked outside immediately, the bee dropped to the floor on the way, but I squatted down and I reached my finger to it again, it climbed to me again. I rushed to the cucumber outside, I reached my finger to one of the yellow cucumber flower, the bee crawled to the flower. I rushed back to finish putting all the plates to the racks.

It doesn't matter how the bee get inside, it belongs to the nature, not the toxicity fumming in the kitchen.

I miss you, too. Every day.

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