Spinning

During which I re-path a honeybee and consider my own grooves

I was on my morning ‘spin’ while in Arizona. Most days while there I manage two spins, both along a section of the de Anza Trail, a slim footpath through overhanging mesquite trees. The word describes the walks: they’re not leisurely or destination-driven, but instead are lovely outdoor active moments that get me out under the sky, moving, being refreshed.

Given the purposeful way I walk during a spin, it’s not clear how I even noticed the minute disturbance on the trail. But movement caught my eye and I stopped and bent down to look. In the fine, silty soil a tiny perfect circle was jittering. All around the two inch circle, the soil was unmoving. I bent closer.

It was a lone honeybee. She was spinning too. Round and round in a perfect circle, she was circling. I peered more closely. She, like me, was not moving leisurely. Her legs churned in a regular rhythm. There were grains of silt stuck to her back and sides and even her legs. She had paced the same circle so many times it cut a round groove down into the path. She looked, in fact, panicked. She was in distress.

I sat on my heels to consider what to do. Then I found a wide, soft leaf with some stiffness and held it at an angle gently in front of the bee, blocking her forward motion. She stopped. Her antennae touched the leaf. Then without hesitation she climbed up. I moved her flying carpet to the shade and placed it on the side of the trail. She crouched in stillness, legs clutching the leaf, and panted. Her whole body shuddered with fast in-and-out breaths, her abdomen randomly jerking.

Gradually she relaxed. Her breathing slowed. Her front legs twitched as they released their hold on the leaf, then lifted and began to stroke her antennae to clear them of silt. She methodically ran her legs down her other legs, her antennae, her abdomen. The cleansing ritual soothed both of us.

How often had I frantically run in circles? When had someone noticed and gently redirected my repetitions? The next time I got in a rut, would I notice and have the self-awareness to stop myself? All the bee needed was a gentle nudge, a reminder that her path could be straight, not circular. Can it really be that simple?

I was still crouching by the side of the trail, eyes unfocused as I sifted through my own recent circles, digital and otherwise. Finally glancing down, I blinked stupidly at the leaf. The honeybee was gone. Cleared of the hot dust, wings flight-ready again, she had returned to the skies.

I imagined her being drawn to a bright blossom, where she would touch down on a crisp welcoming petal. At peace with her work in the world.