Forgotten under the washing-up bowl, a tea-coloured spoon is wiped clean as new.
The morning is quiet. But now there are feet upon the front path.
A bee, grounded and starving, struggles near. The spoon holds out a thick drop of sugar water – like milk, a tear, sweet desert rain. And the bee feeds like a baby. Soon she flies away on an ultra-violet path.
With harvest secure, and honey for bread, the teaspoon returns to the kitchen. Between sugar-bowl and kettle, she watches for a hungry dancer to find their way home.