napowrimo day 13
Sudden bud and bloom,
this season I barely noticed
last year. Birth came fast and hard
and left me torn, bruised, but with
an extraordinary sense of instinct. I used
to be rather cerebral. Theories, -ism’s,
and theologies dripped from my
tongue. Then this: a resetting
of the self. Unable to pretend
to be anything but mammalian. Something
I was good at without study or practice.
Giving suck, giving milk. Lactation
is often messy, starts painful, and then reaches
some place of calm. We retreat
to the overgrown arbor of the arboretum,
my just turned one year old, and I.
As I settle into shadow, I discover
why this space is deserted. Bumblebees
swoop and careen, so numerous
that two run into each other, fall
to the stones in a furry yellow tumble,
and then re-air. I surrender myself
to stillness and trust that we
are not what they want. She drinks, she wiggles,
and bees continue to stumble through air. She
pulls herself up into an almost stand. We
have a name for the look a baby gets
when she has recently fed: milk drunk.
These bees are overcome with this sudden
spring. Sun drunk, pollen drunk. We revel
in what nature provides after a long and hard winter.