Buzzing sound can placate the senses. Crawling up the legs of a two-ton branch. Muir Woods, the Redwood forest, searching for pollen to make sweet honey. Later on that night these bees will be sleeping safe and soundly in their hive, dreaming of dripping honeycomb, their stingers curled to their chest and eyes closed. As soon as a strip of dawn lifts its eyelid, the bee is off for more. Sensory depravation in a salty pool of tears, waiting for The Man to come, and step on top of one time only. Summery blades of grass urge him along, perseverance, keep on going, there is nothing but this moment now and I need this encouragement. Rapid-fire wings firing on all cylinders. The winter is unkind, but the must stay safe and warm somehow otherwise, how would they come back for summer? Painting flower petals blues, grays, and pinks. Unremarkable watercolor sunrise without glasses. A puppet show that can only appear in some Polar Express type way. Up and into tree branches, stopping to investigate sticky sap. Maple syrup trickling down the trunk and into a pail. The trees are giving us life sugar. Do not be afraid if the tree talks back and says, "It's okay, you can take it". Has a bee ever overslept or been late?