The intrepid bumblebee dozing in her black and yellow jacket. Resting on unfurled petals. Wanting to give their welcome treasure. Waiting for nuggets of elixir.
To coat legs and, dusting bristled body, Now Gathered she hummed at the ladybird nearby.
Wanting to show her how high to fly. For the ladybird aspired to be more. To meet the bee at the flower’s door.
To taste on her pollen’s Flight. To hum as loudly as she might.
The branch does not split as brown wings hold steady. Sweet one with downy feathers and a hard beak.
Fiery red. Spirited and free. Boldness, in a muted world. A spark in spring’s lustre.
Let my doubt not quicken, reminding me of the courage i must muster. To be just as daring as you can be.
I, too, take this jaunty leap from branches beneath my feet.
Artisans of life. Your artistry belongs in the world. The ratio and particles are refined. In the mosaic of the universe.
To flow freely, like the babbling stream, giving to the passions of what it dreams. Painting the world alive with who you are, until you disappear.
Creator and the created becoming one. The workshop is right here; the tools are presented, but the method is unclear.
This life spiral takes us deeper as we learn, chalking ourselves on the aether, the art form the blessed teacher. Through the hourglass, we lose our form.
Formlessness, shifting, falling to our quickening. The pace towards death’s door. In formlessness, we endure.
Cast me adrift. They always do. No one will follow. That place now my own. A sailor of the elements. My hands the net. My body the ship, the anchor I laid to rest.
Harbourless, a lonely stray. The tide at request does not stay. Shipmates not needed, for they all drowned.
Their spineless backs, no keel to maintain. Sailing on invisible waters that do not quench.
My hunger not sated. The lighthouse I have not met. Adrift. touched by none. Gone far from the harbour. Gone far from the shore.
No sail. No boat for those who stay only on land, their lives as fickle as shifting sand.
