a tilting of air

The white and pink blossom hinted at honey.
Such a small and delicate thing to hold so many memories.
Standing as still as the tree — trunk to trunk, root to root —
With the sun on my back and a world on my shoulders,
An as-it-will breeze ruffled petals and consciousness.

A honeybee danced at the corner of my eye,
Mastering the floral dancefloor with a glide-2-3, glide-2-3
So confident in its steps as to ignore — better, navigate —
My awkward shuffle-trip-stumble toward wherever.
Plucky thing to simply be as God intended.

“Well. Glad it’s finally flowering,” I thought. And stepped back,
To tackle the day holding a blossom and a bee in the breeze.
Only, a swell stopped me — stilling me for a second look —
to be overcome by the full branching bouquet, humming life.
What peace, made whole, to billow the soul.