To make a prairie, it takes a clover and a bee

A clover and one bee.

And revery.

but revery alone will do

if bees are few.

– Emily Dickinson

revery: A state of dreamy meditation or fanciful musing; a daydream; a fantastic, visionary, or impractical idea.

Where to find those golden moments of inspiration? The sugared energy that sweetens and distills the lazy meanderings of the dull and depressed mind?

Because today my own hive-mind is dry, with dusty, crenellated tunnels that lead nowhere.

There’s no queen to muster up motivation, no encouraging brood mates, no honey to drip from the sticky comb as a reward from the day’s hard work.

Instead my brain buzzes lazily across the summer yard, trying to bring back something worthy, something of use.

Some piece of myself to add to the buzz of inane conversation all around me. Words that flit and fly across the yard, words to transport and transform.

All it takes is one bee.

But as every honeybee knows, we cannot fly without the murmur of breath beneath our wings.

Without the wisp of breeze, there is no circling with intent, instead we humbly crawl across the lawn, to be trampled by a foot or lost in the mounds of grass.

We want a purpose, we want a community to share our short but productive little lives. And a warm home for our tiny, fragile paper-wings to fold and rest.

And so we circle and fly, labor and die.

This is how it is to write.