lean in

I went to the Pohangina valley.

Clean spring green.

PIcked up heart shaped rocks.

Picked up broken glass.

Picked up.

They were throwing stones in the water. I walked away from the splashing.

I walked past the Friday night fire pits, the Woodstock cans and pizza boxes.

The trees along the bank were just flowering.

I thought the trees were thrumming with their flowering, thought I could hear the flowers.

Then I leaned in and it was bees. Trees were thick with bees.

The bees sounded like effort and essence, it was a vital sound.

Bee frequency. Bee transmission.

I closed my eyes. I leaned in. I could smell new vegetation. Clean growth.

The trees told me. The bees showed.

 

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