The Bee

Leah-Lyd wants to know

what colour a chameleon would change if it fell into water.

I'm pretty sure she's hoping I’ll say they turn clear;

it's kind of what I want to tell her too.

Later, scootering to school,

she notices a dead bumblebee on the pavement;

its colours still vivid.

After a bit of convincing, I place it on her palm

where it rests on its side.

“It might just be sleeping Daddy,” she says,

cautiously keeping her eyes on it.

I think of clear chameleons again

and what matters most.

“It might be, yes,” I reply.

“Let’s move it where no one will step on it,” she says,

before placing it lovingly (and I sense with some relief)

in some grass by the trunk of a tree.

I hope it wakes up.