Donald wakes with the slightest light in the east, makes a cup of tea, goes to the still to begin the day’s work while it is still cool. It will be hot today, and tomorrow, and the next, but it is prime distillation time. The sun rises, bumble bees still sleeping in the lavender. The air is humid with the week’s unseasonal rain. There must be a haiku that expresses the essence of moist beauty, of worry of climate change, yet the absolute power of presence. I experiment but find myself unworthy of the challenge.
|Bumble bee sleeping-in.|