Busy Bee

Bees- what I noticed when I stood taking pictures of butterflies the other day 

was the buzz of bees. 

The bees were just as prevalent in the clover as the butterflies, 

they were simply smaller, less colorful, and noisier. 

Yesterday I took a few minutes, after collecting eggs, 

to crouch at the edge of the hay and watch the bees. 

Most of the bees I saw were bumble bees and carpenter bees.
They frantically flew from flower to flower, 

raking through each head of blossoms, 

their legs heavy with pollen, 

their wings a blur.

Today I identify with the bees. 

I still feel fragile and vulnerable like the butterflies. 

I still think life is a precious and beautiful struggle, 

but I have been forced to continue on with life.
I have been busy. 

It's both good and sad at the same time. 

On the one hand I feel

 as though my little world and the way I function

 should reflect how profoundly my life has been forever changed 

by my mom's sudden absence from it. 

Shouldn't something about how I go about my daily life be altered forever? 

On the other hand, 

I would probably wallow in sadness, introspection, and feelings of futility 

if I was left to brood on the strange and scattered thoughts 

that assail me in the tired moments of stillness that I steal. 

Providence has seen fit to throw a bunch of "hot coals" in my lap lately, 

and so I juggle them, 

my life a busy blur of worry, whining children, and waiting tasks. 

Just as the worker bees frantically labor
to gather the nectar before the blossoms fade, 

I too am trying to do my job, 

to scrape together what my family needs 

in order to make something sweet
that will get us through the tough days ahead.