Leah-Lyd wants to know
what colour a chameleon would change if it fell into water.
I'm pretty sure she's hoping I’ll say they turn clear;
it's kind of what I want to tell her too.
Later, scootering to school,
she notices a dead bumblebee on the pavement,
its colours still vivid.
After a bit of convincing, I place it on her palm
where it rests on its side.
“It might just be sleeping, Daddy,” she says,
cautiously keeping her eyes on it.
I think of clear chameleons again
and what matters most.
“It might be, yes,” I reply.
“Let’s move it where no one will step on it,” she says,
before placing it lovingly (and I sense with some relief)
in some grass by the trunk of a tree.
I hope it wakes up.