One of those rare bumblebees who agreed with the engineers about not being able to fly so he mainly sits around & watches the other bees work themselves to death.
When I die, she said, I’m coming back as a tree with deep roots & I’ll wave my leaves at the children every morning on their way to school & whisper tree songs at night in their dreams. Trees with deep roots know about the things children need.
He told me that the night his mother died, there were storms & far away there was purple lightning & someone left the window open & the room filled with a swirl of butterflies & she slipped out quietly without anyone noticing & I’m sure the grief was softer because of that.
That was the day the ancient songs of blood & war spilled from a hole in the sky & there was a long moment as we listened & fell silent in our grief & then one by one, we stood tall & came together & began to sing of life & love & all that … [Read More]