The Keeper of the Bees

- jan-u-wine
Heavy….
 
the very air
lies
heavy
this morn.
 
sunlight,
dazzling
flowers
and
eyes alike....
sharp blue
iris
of the sky
vacant
of cloud's white
pupil.
 
under the heated
glaze
of fierce sun,
corn
bends
its tired head
towards the welcome
arms of earth,
tired roses nod
drowsily
in the smallest
breath of breeze.
 
Summer
in the land
I call the Shire,
in the land
I call Home.
______________
 
This day
is not like
other days.
 
On other days,
I do not
pause
to think on my life,
the smallness of it.....
the largeness of it.
 
Somehow,
inside,
I *know*,
I simply
*know*
the way my life
will be.
 
Today,
unbidden,
the somehows
creep from the corners
into living vision.
 
Today,
the sunlight,
the roses,
the World
is different.
 
I am different.
 
Such a small thing…..
it was
such
a very small
thing
that woke me....
 
In the tight darkness
of last night,
beneath the round eye
of the study's window,
there was sudden music.
 
No,
not music.
It was
 
Elvish.
 
You,
spilling words
like light
and air
and fire-flies
into the dark.
 
words,
green and
graceful,
like leaves
lying upon the tired
face of the wind.
 
and.....
suddenly,
the night curved,
like a road
that crests upon a distant hill
so that you cannot see
the other side.
 
But……
you know it is there.
 
all those words
that I do not
understand
(that I cannot understand)
(can I?)
fell upon me,
heavy,
light,
just like this
bright morn,
and the onyx
sky
drew them to her,
and with them,
me.
 
I cannot say how,
but
just then,
I saw beyond the soft
sorrow
in those words,
as if that sorrow rang
with distanc'd  joy.
 
I had never
considered
the stars
before,
caught there
in the tree's
fingered frame.
 
The stars.
 
They watch us,
don't they,
with solemn,
careful eyes.
They
promise,
don't they,
they promise
endurance.....
 
endurance
against the lonely
fearsome  night.
 
___________________
 
You would smile
if I said
that I was like
one swimming
too far
upon the waves
of the Sea
that night.
 
Part of me
drowned
in the beauty
and the patient
white
bloom of the stars.
 
Part of me
breathed,
like a new-born child,
under the sweet
water
of your words,
breathed
until
my mind
slept and woke
woke and slept
and
woke again.
 
You do not know,
yet,
that something
awaits you,
something
larger
than your books,
larger than the light
that comes and goes
in the rooms of your
eyes.
 
I can  not tell you.
 
You
are not like me.
 
No, you are not.
 
And that is why
I am here,
isn't it?
 
that is why
I am here....
 
opening the window
to let the sunlight
in,
taking your hand to lead you
into the bright paths
She makes  on the warmed earth
in your quiet garden.
 
Someday,
I know......
Somehow,
I know,
that I will lead you
in places where there is no Sun,
someday, we shall gaze
from a window curtain’d  by grey mist
somwhere,
there will be nights
that have no stars…
nor the soft sweet
sadness
of Elven words
clinging to velvet mountains
of darkness
 
__________________
 
I busy myself
with
roses
and blackberries
beneath
the harsh cut
of the sun.
 
Maybe
I am wrong.
 
Maybe
it is just
an imagining
of a summer night
and the magic
of Elvish words
pouring
like mead
into the black stillness.
 
Please.
(the sharp teeth of my shear
trims
an errant hedge)
Let me be wrong.
 
From the corner
of my eye
I watch you,
as I tie back
the rose-bushes
insolently
climbing the wall.
 
Quiet.
Too quiet in the midst of
the happy noise of the World.
 
fear rises in me.
 
I am not wrong.
 
A gold-banded bee,
made dizzy
perchance
by the afternoon's heat,
struggles
upward
from the tight-petal’d  fist of
an encumbering flower.
 
The soft hum
of his song,
his life,
strikes my ear.
 
He is desperate,
this small, soft thing,
mindless in his need
to find the clear
familiarity of sweet
air
beneath him.....
 
Unaccountably,
the velvet-clad  body
lies at my feet,
sun catching the beauty
of stilling wings.
 
I do not know why,
but
I cry
as I see him there.
 
I am only a gardener,
a keeper of growing things,
a healer of that which seeks
the sun with a leaf'd face
and the earth
with embracing roots.
 
I am only
a gardener.
 
Please.
 
Do not entrust me
with the
keeping
of bees.