and the world is in no hurry. The bees are the only things seemingly
busy on this first Sunday in May, flying past my open window making
noise like traffic passing by on a nearby road. I guess for a
every morning is like a Monday morning. They wake early, listen
to the traffic reports and weather forecast as they shower and
get ready. Then maybe like us they gulp down a quick breakfast
and dart off for another day
of flying around being a busy bee. I wonder what bees do to relax?
What does a bee do when it's time to unwind?
I lie in bed waking slowly from a restful sleep, like springtime
after a long winter. I stare aimlessly out of the window at the
fresh green leaves that seem to have suddenly appeared on the
tree in no more than a matter of days. It too is waking from a
back to life after the winter months, possibly even more pleased
than I to feel the warmth of the springtime sun.
I close my eyes
and drift away to that place between sleeping and waking, where
the sounds of reality somehow get woven into the
fabric of dreams, where past, present and future collide in the
technicolored adventures in which time is fluid and the most
fascinating hour is in fact little more than a heartbeat.
I'm in no hurry
to wake. Sunday's in no hurry, either.