April 18, 2020

Business Model

I burned my tongue on too-hot tea.
That was yesterday, and today, it's
hard to enjoy my brew. I guess this
means I have something in common
with Icarus – although I'm not dead;
I have not yet drowned for erring on
the too-high side of things. It's only
harder to enjoy this steeped leaf-lift,
this liquid set of wings –
not impossible. It's annoying, yes, and
inconvenient, but still within the realm
of the conceivable – nay, more, the
probable, just clipped back slightly
for the time being. I still have my
tea, and it is still good, cooling now
beside me and darkening, swirling
with the life's work of a few dozen
bees. My life's work I take from
theirs, so I suppose the least I can
do is understand their business:
this visitation of lovely thing after
lovely thing, collecting, curating
sweetness for the queen and her
brood back home, all the while
trailing life-dust in your wake,
literally giving at the self-same
time that you take, leaving a
legacy of vitality, spreading out
and down, venturing far in the
way of abundance, but
never too close to the sun.