A Taste of Honey

Not so much a taste as a whiff, a submergence, an infusion of honey—in that, when walking anywhere near the hives in these goldenrod days, the aroma of honey hits the body hard, overrunning all thoughts except: the bees are astonishing beings, too lovely, artful, and hard-working to steal their honey today.

Instead, I stand quite still and marvel at their unique creation—the simple honey that mankind, with all its alleged wit and wisdom, cannot produce.

I marvel, too, at how this ethereal scent embellishes the warm air like an additional layer of heat: runny, golden of thought, a fourth wall on summertime—making the summer and all its joys and labors realer, somehow, yet somehow more dreamlike.