bad bee

I said, “I love you” softer then it should have been. It was quiet like the sporadic California dragonflies who became unfamiliar with our gifts of fruit salad that we tossed to the grass. It is nice to be alone I said, a bit louder then before and began searching for a hidden golfer and their repetition for numbers.

We sat beneath a summer clear blue sky and you asked if we would ever be golfers one day. I think we could be, I declared, but we should walk with the following clubs to maximize our theory of a perpetual “hands free” movement. In our bag there should be a three wood, a four and seven iron, pitching wedge, and a putter.

I must have trailed off eventually, because I remember you saying something, lightly swatting away a bee that wanted to be your friend.