i think i've become a friend of bees. when they approach me i'm glad, i'm glad to share their silence, their aloneness, their contented-busyness.
how can they be so fleeting and hasty and yet seem peaceful? the thought- the obligation- of continuous work is kept locked in their small minds yet they are always moving. yet if my job were as constant as my breathing i suppose i would live for it, cherishing each flower, each bit of pollen, as much as i cherish every step i take. i think it comes with time.
like a rusting locket passed down through generations is the loving work of the bees.