Beltane Waxing Planting Moon
from a difficult time in my life:
The world still smells of lilacs
A star rises from my heart
Into the dark, dark sky.
You and I.
As other celestial objects
Wheel and slowly turn
The star shines. An urn
Reflects the star light,
It contains the dust
what remains of us.
The star o’er sheep once played
A hope that grew
From a babe into
A savior, a christ,
A man who loved and died.
It watches as we are tried
In the crucible of time
And found wanton.
Left for abandon.
Oh, well. I loved you once.
The star traverses the sky
Watching, as we die
The death of personal crucifixion
A penalty which seems too harsh.
Yet, a bird sings on the marsh.
The sun rises rosy-fingered,
Eggs are hatching.
Gates are latching.
The world still smells of lilacs
defied common sense and peeked in without the bee suit or smoke, I did. The multiple stings I took color my movements and my tolerance of the task at hand, making me want to move quicker, get done a bit sooner that good beekeeping suggests. My hope is that repeated visits to the hives combined with good management practices will slowly drain that anxiety.