The Eye of the Bee

Close your eyes.

Can you feel it?

The hum of the universe, throbbing through your veins?

It pulses and flickers through every living being, from the cry of the wolf to the flounce of the poppy in the breeze.

It flashes like the sun sparks erupting from the hummer’s breast.

And it fills you with the essence of the lilac’s breath.

It tastes like the rapturous grape, warmed by the day, exploding in your mouth.

It sings like the flap of a parrot’s wing.

And it dances in the paws of a mouse.

It’s in the eye of the hawk too, as she searches for her prey, her keen yellow eyes peering through the hay for that mouse, or some other tiny tidbit.

It’s also in the shimmer of the mica-flecked wedges of granite, which stand like sentinels, guarding the land, for what seems like eternity…

…although it is not.

And you can hear it in the waves of the sea as she licks the tumbled shore and breathes clouds into being.

And, sometimes, the hum turns into a roar and I don’t know how anybody could deny it anymore.

For when the light gilds the tips of those fields of hay, teasing them into the brightness of day, can’t you see?

Each stalk is its own, but is also connected, intersected, with the vast ocean of creativity, which brings me to my knees in awe.

Now, open your eyes.

And what do you see?

I would love for you to tell me.

For, it’s different, I know.

But, also the same.

And she goes by so many different names.

She lives in the eye of the bee and the skin of the tree and the apricot sherbet melting over the sea,

as the sun rises over you and sets over me.

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Poem and photos ©Erika Burkhalter. All rights reserved.