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.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s