Doctor’s pretty phrases

heart murmur’s crescendo and decrescendo, 

cognitive deficits, butterfly rash

What if I remember my wife’s benevolent

face and where I place my hat?

Bees have memories

and age like me.

What if it’s a bee

with cognitive decline?

What will a rose look like

when the bee leafs a garden album?

Will the bee visit me and my wife,

our Wednesday’s picnic at the park?

Will it brush her face,

mistake her ear fo a hive?

Will the bee ride the opposite

flow of scented breeze?

How will the bee feel when dawn

lights each row of rhododendrons?

I wonder how the bees stream

sequencing of flowers, gathering of nectar.

 

I was taught once the path of enigma:

“It is when I am weak that I am strong.”

With each deficit, renewal

each bewilderment, revelation.

Will the bee find

the hidden holiness?

Is there a perfect equivalent in the bee world?

“My goodness, I’m glad you are here.”

When sunset comes will the bee ponder

the existential home: was, is, will be?

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Note: Mrs. Abstract and I  will miss the live demonstration next Saturday by the ladies of Tea Passage at the Grand Hand gallery in Napa on the fine craft of furoshiki, Japanese cloth wrapping.We are up in the mountain for Thanksgiving and huddle like the bees.

photo: of teabags is from a page of Napa Register news

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