I went to the Pohangina valley.
Clean spring green.
PIcked up heart shaped rocks.
Picked up broken glass.
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.
One response to “lean in”
this is a beautiful post, helen.