The Onset 

An amber and umber bee

was clinging 

to the spiked head 

of a seed pod

in my garden,

while young 

helmetless drones

revved their ATV’s

on the steep hill 

above us. 

.

A plastic bag

 snapped its fingers

in the grip 

of a tree’s skeletal hand,

this tattered prayer flag, 

a reminder 

that we are survivors 

of a harsh season.

.

The bee, 

a plummeting pellet, 

dragged its numb body 

over the frosted ground,

thirsting for nectar.

.
As she rose 

on labored wings, 

and drifted wearily 

toward the woods,

a Blue Jay followed.

The first flakes of winter 

melted on my cheeks.

I wondered 

if anyone would miss her.

.

© M.G. Iannucci 2017 

Photo: Bee in Flight

11 thoughts on “The Onset 

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