9/13/17
5:53pm
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I ran by the tree that used to have wishes hanging from it. I hung one there too, once, years ago. It came true.
*
There was an oily smear on the concrete trail beside the tree. I knew what it meant, and looked up. Yes, the beehive was gone too.
*
I remembered when they first destroyed it, causing far more commotion than the bees; spraying clouds of toxic dust; suited up for protection from head to toe; telling everyone to stay back. The gray, honeycombed masterpiece lying destroyed on the ground.
*
But, a little time after the attack, the bees were back; rebuilding. I stood beneath their still small hive, looking up. I said, Good for you. And simultaneously one bee zoomed by my ear, around the bend of my head in a curve, and entered her hive.
*
I like honey and how it soothes me during illness. I like eating fresh food, grown from the ground, pollinated by bees. I like being of the Earth. I want to accept my place in it’s system more and more and more. I’ve been stung, but so too have I struck out at others in defense, and yet here I stand. Standing beside the smear of their defeat on wishing to hang from the branches of the wishing tree. I don’t know the story of why the wishes are gone too. I wasn’t there to see it – having been off enjoying my wish hung there, come true.
*
I walked out of the park, and saw a hand painted shell on the ground; painted with the words: You Are Loved. I looked back at the tree. There were so many leaves, and the tree looked strong.
*****
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