|Acrylic Painting by Margaret Bednar|
and a poem to go with it...
Bees like amber drops roll in the petals,
their buzz industrious, not threatening,
my childhood phobia placated.
(I avoided flowers, tiptoed through dandelion patches
afraid of being stung)
Perhaps it's the Adirondack chair
and the sun, both slanted just so
as to make movement nigh impossible
(like the stone bunny next to me).
Mid-summer I'm supine, moony;
observe crows at forest edge,
breath in fresh-cut grass,
distant whir of mower a lullaby,
content to cloud watch,
thoughts a shape-shifting mirage.
Perhaps it's part dehydration,
swear I'm floating on angel wings,
weightless, prayer frivolous
as I childishly plea summer never end...
and the bees drone on.
By Margaret Bednar, August 8, 2018
The first line is from The Roses a poem featured in American Primitive - poems by Mary Oliver