The Bee and the Flowers

Each day,
the bee flew far.

He carried pollen
from one place to another.

But the flowers always
had something to say.

“You’re late.”
“This doesn’t smell right.”
“The last one was better.”

It was never enough.

The bee said nothing.

The next day,
he flew faster.

The day after that,
he went farther,
searching for something better.

Sometimes,
he chose places nearby,
just so
he could return sooner.

Still—

“This isn’t right.”
“It’s not what we wanted.”

The bee tried to explain.

The wind had been strong.
The blooms were different.
Some places were far.

The flowers were
not convinced.

“You’ve changed.”

After that,
the bee stopped explaining.

For a while,
he still came.

Then one day, he didn’t.

He landed instead
in another field.

There were many flowers there.

When he arrived,
one of them shifted slightly.

“You’re here.”

He set the pollen down.

No one asked
where he had been.

No one compared it
to what came before.

Nothing was corrected.
Nothing was measured.

The flowers welcomed him quietly.

The air was still.

The bee didn’t have to rush.

He stayed.