gone

in the absence
of bees
there is air in my lungs
and calm in my soul
and the pain of the sting
is fast fading
in the absence
of bees
comes the easing of fear
and my mind can let go
into sleep

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evening in the garden

edit-5813purple flower spikes
less busy now
as evening comes
and here I sit
with tea
and camera
(just in case)

no butterflies left
they’ve gone to bed
(where do they sleep?)

but still the swallows
chitter by
the out-late bees
hum-bumble low
and early moths
flutter

time slows
to a honeyed trickle
in our wild garden

at the top of the garden

there’s a spot, now
at the top of the garden
that’s ours
where we sit
with a tea
(for me)
and a coffee
(for you)
to survey the scene
and ponder
the next wave
of the battle
to take back this space
(so neglected)
and I imagine
as I sit
all the bees
and the butterflies
who will gather
when we’re done
and the sun
blinds my eyes
while the birds
fill my ears
and my heart
fills my chest