No such thing as

free time.

“It is all falling indelibly into the past.”

Don DeLillo, Underworld

After the school run a week ago, it was a grey morning, unseasonal for July.

I directed steps down the lane towards the ford. I had no agenda, just a vague sense of peace that I needn’t rush off to log in for work like usual. It felt decadent, this untroubled time. I don’t usually walk down to the ford in the morning but it felt like the right thing to do that day.

The river is flat here and so shallow the riverbed seems almost to rise through its surface. As I watched the steady flow, I noticed something: some small creature blemishing the surface of the water.

It was the black burr of a tangled bumblebee. It swept straight towards me and I dipped a hand to pluck it out.

It was as wet as a drowned cat. Bumblebee fuzz plastered to it in clumps, one antenna bent and wrapped around its head, wings a draggled mess.

I let it crawl across my palm. The bent antenna righted itself. It really was a cold morning and the bee looked…