It weaves in and out of the flower bed. Sometimes in the sun, sometimes in the shadow. It flies swiftly, buzzing in an instant from one flower to the next, slowing down in no time. It hovers for a second, it's dark eyes impervious, seemingly brooding. It moves on.

After zig-zagging through the bed for a few minutes, it stops in front of a flower, and seems to approve. It swoops down towards it, and just before it appears it would crash into the flower, it stops, millimetres above it.

It slows its flapping, it's legs reach for the flower. With one final downward flap of its wings, it touches down on a petal. It's legs bend, wings droop and head bows. If it had eyelids, they would have been closed. Instead, it refuses to see. Because in that one instant, the weight of the universe came crashing down on it. A life dedicated to obeying nature and survival. A tired life. It resumes seeing, head bent, and for a moment it looks at the world, a defiant stare, and dares to dream. A new world reflected on its compound eye.

The moment passes. It lifts it's head, and begins its work, a mere insect, caught in the web of life.