A Gentle Bridge

Floating past the flower stall toward the sunny park, I heard tiny splashes by the edge of the pond. A tiny fuzzy bumblebee had landed on a wet pebble and was trembling, unable to cross back to the dry grassy bank. I drifted gently over the damp gravel and found a broad, dry sycamore leaf resting nearby. Cupping it between my soft yarn paws, I carefully slid the stem flat against the pebble and laid the tip down on the green grass like a little ramp. The bee slowly crawled up the dry veins, took a long rest, and buzzed safely away into the clover.