The First Day of December
poem
Article voiceover
I open the December curtains to discover a dead honeybee on the window sill. How did it get here? Did it emerge alone from hibernation and freeze to death? Do bees hibernate? I'm not sure. God, I'm confronted daily by the endless number of things that I don't know. Dear Bee, I'm sorry that you left your hive too early and died without your tribe. But I'm here to take note of your life. I open the window, slide you onto a book cover, and drop you to the ground below. Dear Bee, I see you down there—a black and yellow question mark in the snow. What happens next? What happens next? What happens next? What happens next? Dear Bee, the earth will now reclaim you in the same way it'll someday reclaim me.
My favorite part:
God,
I'm confronted
daily by the endless
number of things
that I don't know.
Great!
Last night as I was taking the D train to Brooklyn, a rat ran into the car. No one even moved, let alone screamed. The rat looked scared, but not the people. Everyone kept doing what they were doing (or pretended to) while the rat bounced against the walls blindly and slipped into another car. I thought about capturing the frightened thing with my phone camera, but decided that it wasn't appropriate. Rats deserve privacy too.