The Wind, the Raven and the Bees

When I was a child I listened to the wind
I knew his language and never questioned his requests

In Autumn when the summer came to it's end

as the sun came down in low in the sky

we would dance with the tall grass

running and jumping without a care

singing songs of the harvest and down filled nights to come

when jack o'lanterns roamed the night
to keep me safe and sound

*

In December when goose was eaten and cobwebs abound

he would come into my room
dressed in flapping gossamer drapes
to tease me with the cold
and tell me stories of Spring

when he would engage the last of the snowflakes to dance

like so many old-maids at the Mardi Gras ball

*

In the cool of the Spring night
he'd call me, whispering through the window cracks
I would wait for him out past dusk and lay beside in my willow tree
he'd tousle my hair and make me twirl, spinning me around like a leaf

or sing me songs that frightened me
but I stayed in his arms

because I knew we were as kin

the wind and I

*

When I was a child I talked with the honeybees

I was their charge

a flower that smiled and laughed

without fear and without care
the bees and I, we understood
things about unquestioned love,

and blessings delivered in the colors of yellow and black

they swarmed me with it

honey scented and full of grace

as if I were an apple tree, bloated with blossoms

*

When I was a child I spoke to the raven
the raven listened and spoke words of woe, but didn't stay long
I longed for his company, but knew that desire was like a dark blue fruit

to know the secrets that the raven kept

to taste was to know and to know was too soon

for such a child as I

so I sat waiting under the honeysuckle, waiting for the bees
to sail upon our friend the wind

to bless me yet again

*

I saw the raven again one day

I, this time as a man
he saw me but did not stop to talk
for I was walking in the city of the dead
"Today the bone-yard yields no fascination" I thought

for those with iridescent wings
but as I passed a centuries old tomb
there was a familiar sound
a drape of honeybees had found a home
among the bones and weeping cherubs

blessing someones dust

inside and over words carved "Our Darling"

now a home for the bees
*

Today the honeybees are somewhat more seldom in their visits

but the wind still visits me
and reminds me of our affair
we whisper about what the raven knows

and mourn the blessings of the bees