-This poem reflects on late summer bees continuing their patient work among fading flowers, finding abundance not in endless plenty but in attention to what remains.
They move more slowly through the bloom,
their bodies heavy with the morning,
gold dust gathered on their legs,
the garden humming low beneath them.
The clover thins along the path,
the lavender has lost some purple,
yet still the bees move flower to flower,
faithful to what sweetness remains.
No urgency disturbs their work,
no grief attends the fading petals,
they enter each remaining bloom,
as if abundance lives in attention.
Perhaps the season teaches this,
to gather what the day still offers,
to leave no living sweetness missed,
because the light has started turning.