24/04/2026
For Nina G Gregory and all friends 🙏🐝💚
Bees...
I hear them before I see them,
the low golden hymn
threading through blossom and air.
Not noise,
but memory returning.
They move between worlds,
from root-dark dreaming
to the pale breath of petals,
carrying something older
than honey.
In the cherry,
they wake the bones of sweetness.
In the willow,
they stir the listening water.
Each wingbeat
a small remembering,
of earth speaking to sky,
of blossom calling to blood,
of the old agreements
still held in the marrow of things.
I stand beneath them,
not apart,
but gathered into the hum,
and for a moment
my own breath
belongs to the hive
of the living world.
