I keep putting the honey in my oatmeal each morning, waiting for that sweet amber to drip into all the empty places, soften all that is brittle and dry. And I remember what the beekeeper told me when I visited his apiary—how he eats a spoonful of honey every morning and it has helped him be rid of the seasonal allergies he used to have. I’m still sniffing the remnants of a cold from last week and I think about how this viscous syrup is made from riches gathered, purified in the abdomen of the bees. I have nature’s gold coursing through my body and I close my eyes as I spoon it into my mouth, imagine a field of thousands of wildflowers inside of me.
pray for dawn.