Even now, I still worry that I’m being followed by the bee. It’s in my hair, just waiting to come out.

(This fragment was occasioned by the morning walk I took with my daughter. A bee or strange fly followed us from our driveway all around the block, past the wild blackberry bushes, around the school yard, and even down the sidewalk as we ran furiously from it. It kept wanting to nest in our hair. Maybe it liked our shampoo. To get back into the house, I lured the bee into the backyard while my daughter dashed through the front door. Then, she opened the sliding glass door in the back and I rushed in. Despite being inside again for two hours, I keep thinking the bee is with me.)