I watch my lizard friend
cross the pavement
and stop
intent
and then I see the bee
flailing on his back.
Still, I do not expect
the lizard’s swift strike
or his fierce gobble.
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I watch my lizard friend
cross the pavement
and stop
intent
and then I see the bee
flailing on his back.
Still, I do not expect
the lizard’s swift strike
or his fierce gobble.
I sit, angry, stiff. Then I become aware of the bees on the ivy’s spiky balls of blooms. The soft hum of them and their warm, steady presence soothe me. I breathe, one hand on my belly. I remember the bee women in Starhawk’s The Fifth Sacred Thing, working their magic.
[re-posted from today’s tweet @tryingmywings]