Here and Now (1982)

It’s fall. The days are getting shorter and cooler. The leaves are turning. It’s one of my favorite seasons (spring is my favorite). I was outside with the dog yesterday early evening waiting for my boyfriend to get home from work. Sitting next to a patch of what is really a weed, with tiny pale lavender flowers. I know the name of the weed, but it’s early Saturday morning and the name is escaping me. The weed, whatever it is, seems to be a favored hangout for a swarm of honeybees. Sophie and I spent a good hour out there, watching the bees do what they do best. Well, I watched, while Sophie’s curiosity would often get the best of her and she would sneak up to a bee or two and attempt to make a new friend. I’m still surprised that she didn’t get stung.

But anyway, it reminded me of a poem I wrote 30 years ago. Figured I would share it:

Here and Now (1982)

Listen
to the buzz
of the bee,
As endlessly, he flits
from flower to flower.
See
the vibrant stripes
of the yellow jacket
as he flies above
a world of red, yellow, and gold.
Sense
as a short life draws to a close.
It seems we always
have tomorrow,
but life is done
before we really begin.

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