I'm not a flower

After picking up this bee on the short walk to a sunset spot, I'd been ignoring it until a few strokes into a sketch it started bumping into my pen. What the? I moved, wondering if I was near its home, but it followed. I tried ignoring it again and then heckled moved this way and that not wanting to give up sitting for sunset. I started waving at it. I tried luring it away with the pen and leaving the pen on various rocks hoping the bee would heckle the pen instead. Could it be my shirt? It's colors or its smell? Privileged to do so, I desperately cast my shirt aside slipping on an extra layer instead. I'm sorry to say I finally lured the bee to a spot in the air with the pen and sprayed it with citronella—which the bee did not seem to like—but it came right back. At that point I gave up, figuring it hadn't stung me yet, set my focus as close to me as I could, and started taking photos.

The bee didn't leave until the color had faded from the sky about forty minutes after I arrived. Soon after, I headed home to bed too.