Reflections

The bees swarm around my coffee, they love caramel almost as much as they love honey. The conversation weaves in and out of their flight. Round and round like a dance. They giggle and twirl with it. There is a chair across the room, full of brown leather and grey pants and a hunched head over hot coffee. The window is not a window at all, but the surface of a pond. My bees are zooming up and down around me, lazy me. The sounds have grown fur, white like hairy mold. I look and the chair is swinging back and forth, the night sky looking at the empty wooden seat. The Wind blows through me and I want to go home.

-Pliny the Dreamer, from Notebook with the Bees