Waterlogged Memories

Maybe I'm wrong, and bees hate water. They prefer to travel over bridges after all. And will not fly in the rain.

Since yesterday I've been haunted by waterlogged bees. Searching for a memory. We used to rent a house with a swimming pool.

The swimming pool was overhung by a giant ghost gum, which dropped its leaves and blossoms
and little bark canoes into the water. We used to spend hours trying to fish them out with a net.

Sometimes there would be bees. We didn't like them near us when we were vulnerable in our swimsuits, and bare feet. Often the bees would drown, in the swimming pool water. They would bob towards the filter outlet and disappear.

One day I remember seeing that my daughter had lined up several waterlogged bees on the slate tiles at the side of the pool. What are you doing? I asked. Trying to revive them, she said.

Or is this what happened? One day I saw my daughter gently nudging waterlogged bees on to a little bark canoe. What are you doing? I asked. Saving them, she replied.

Or this? One day I saw a row of waterlogged bees lined up at the side of the pool. What's this? I asked. My bee hospital, she answered.

Something like this happened. I remember hoping that the bees would not survive to sting her, or any other member of my family, later on.

That was in the days when there were bees.