mating rituals

midway through the hike we get to the overlook
and sit down at the bench. you’ve been there
before but i haven’t, so while you got out the
sandwiches i admire the view:
the rows of trees below us like stadium seating,
massive homes tucked within them sporadically
and way out beyond that, the coastline at Santa
Monica Beach, Will Rogers, the sand flowing down
to Malibu like the edges of a dress. beside it, the
ocean looks still as a pond. “do you want a
sandwich?” you ask me. “sure,” i say. and you
hand me one. i start eating and when a bee
lands on the bench, you tell me about how you
spent an internship as a beekeeper and had studied
their mating rituals…and most interestingly you had
learned that male suitors would put on a performance
for the queen. “they kind of…dance for her…” you
tell me. “no kidding!” i say between bites of the
sandwich. you nod excitedly and your eyes
get wide and your big head of black curls bobs.
i schooch over and lean in and my eyes get
wide and my hands go up with the sandwich.
“and then what?!” i ask. “well!…” you begin, as the
bee studies us from the back of the bench