Mild Thoughts

Little honey bee, you who showers the flowers with your sweet marmalade kisses, hover hither and listen. Stay for awhile. You dance and I smile, petals glad for your visit.

Your job complete, you flutter off, full of satisfaction. I shant stop your mission. I shall remain here until you return, basking in sunshine wishes. I know you must go home to tend to your bounty- a family, a queen, a nights rest in between. And when the Sun rises, a new day to be seen.

I awake to a tickle. I sneeze and you tumble. We laugh as you fumble, shaking your pollen speckled face. You’re too quiet, silly bumble, I exclaim with a rumble. And you’re too ticklish, you jeer. Never humble. A flit, a twirl, a cough; we say our goodbyes, and then you are off.

It’s morning now. Dew drops caress my leaves like Spring; my roots sing. I welcome the light, and await your happy buzzing.

Day in and day out we break our bread. Little laughs dot my calendar that we have had.

You share with me stories of tulips down the lane, how you flew with iron birds, and battled the rain. I tell you of cracked earth from a Sun never-ending, of a great billed mama training her ducklings.

A chill of wind on the wing as Summer starts dwindling. One more bright sky, although they aren’t lasting. Luckily a little bee will visit, and I’ll forget the impending.

We spend all afternoon flirting with dreams: Flowers far as the eye can see- red roses, violets and aquamarines. Hives bursting with honey, families and full tummies, a great big world to be seen.

As the Sun winds into the sea, you say you’ll be taking your leave. A new adventure, far away, somewhere I cannot go; I must stay. You’re not sure how long you will be.

What can I say? I can’t make you stay. No, that would be cruel of me…

I wish you well, little bee. But only if you promise me, that you will come back and tell me of the things you see. You say quite matter-of-factly, I promise you only if you promise me, that you will serenade me with what happens to thee. We agree, and sadly end our reverie. Until we meet again, my friend. My friend.

Moons pass, crickets chirp, winds howl, but nary an echo of your violin wings.

Burly clouds rolling, my leaves curling, I sense a storm boiling. A thunder, a crash, wet oak splinters, moss on the breeze, a chill like Winter. I hold fast. Hope is my fire, of a little black and yellow friend, when the cacophony retires.

I try to call out, praying you hear. Listen hard, my sweet, what’s lost can be found. The blue curtains reside. A golden light baths me now, and yet still I don’t hear your tender sound.

Another Sun sets, and with it goes Summer. I’m afraid its not just hope that has started to wither.

And so I start to ponder, if we will we ever find eachother. What will Spring bring? I wonder.