I have a bumble bee. It lies dead in a container of plastic. It was given to me by my uncle; he found it along the course of one of his many walks along the property. Since I have a love of nature and also a fear of bees (or rather, being stung by them), I was both intrigued and afraid when presented with such an odd little token. I was afraid that it might somehow return to life, pull out its stinger and stab me with it, sending me into countless waves of itching and burning. Of course the idea of it coming back to life is absurd, as well I knew, but even so I handled it gingerly between my fore finger and thumb. I examined it as closely as I dared, my eyes wandering over its plump little body, fuzzy and striped with black and yellow, its four remaining legs curled in towards its abdomen; perhaps a final self-comfort in its final moments of life. Its droopy black antennae draped over large black eyes, barely above its tiny mouth. I searched for a stinger; finding none, I suspected if it was not concealed within its body then it must have fallen off. My eyes then roamed to the bumble bee's wings, perched stiff with rigamortis upon its upper back. They were each doubled, one smaller wing in front of another longer one, and all four so translucent and brown. And yet they were not in proportion to the bumble bee's body. In fact they were almost too small to be considered functional (provided the insect were still alive).
I marvelled at how these four miniscule wings could carry such a large cargo. Tiny wings paired up with a huge body seemed absolutely rediculous. And yet I knew that somewhere, inside those little, thinner-than-paper wings, there was some incredible force that carried the bumble bee throughout its life. It then occurred to me that this insignificant bumble bee was juxtapositioned with the many hardships of life. Though its body is large and heavy, its small and thin wings could carry it easily wherever it wished to go. Though certain times in life call for superhuman strength, somehow we are able to fly through the troubles and head towards the good times to be had.
We are born, we live, we die. Every mortal being goes through the same cycle. Even though we may not last forever, we can still pull through when times get rough. So when you are down, do not give up. Be great, and persevere. The evil forces of the world are mighty, but you are stronger. You will pull through.
I have a bumble bee. It is dead, but while it lived it carried itself proudly and with a purpose. Its body may have been much larger than its wings, and it was probably an extremely tough feat. Your life too, will at times seem this way. You will want to fall, you will want to fail. But always remember: The bumble bee flies anyway.
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