Hello Monday - Buzzy Sunday

I stand in a column

Of winged, unmiraculous women,
Honey-drudgers.
I am no drudge
Though for years I have eaten dust
And dried plates with my dense hair.

And seen my strangeness evaporate . . .

They thought death was worth it, but I
Have a self to recover, a queen.
— Sylvia Plath

On Sunday morning Eve and I escaped the house together for a walk in the morning sunshine. We paused to marvel at the bees "bnecting the bnectar" watching as they buzzed from one luridly orange flower to the next splashing against the bright blue sky, finding it impossible to think of these days as autumnal. 

Our exploration took us past white speckled deformities, abandoned eggs laying in the dense leaf litter, seed pods laying quietly waiting to become the new trees that they never will and the bright yellow pom poms of nature. 

In the midst of our walk we stopped at the park for a play and I wondered why I don't do this every Sunday morning, drink in the beauty and poetry of nature exploding in concrete confines of suburban life.

Time to shake off the drudge and re-invigorate my strangeness...