When I was in third grade, a group of people I just happened to be hanging out with found a bee. A dead bee, to be exact.
At that time, I usually did not hang out with a group for more than one or two days. I was the outsider during recess. I didn’t really have any friends.
I forget exactly where, but they were running around and I was tagging along when one of the girls saw that dead bee. Rather that shrieking and running away from it, we felt sorry for the little guy. One boy(i forget his name, but he had short blond hair) carefully covered it with a leaf. We agreed that a funeral service would be held during recess tomorrow.
The next day, we came out to the place where we had left the bee. We carried it a safe way away from other kids, and dug a small hole.
We buried it. One boy said a little obituary-ish thing. Then we found a bit of red string and put it on the grave.
I don’t know what my thought process was at the time, but I remember a collection of images and feelings. I remember feeling sad. Within the next few days, I was with a new group and had forgotten that the burial had ever happened.