My Hottest Writing: A Retrospective: Everyday Magic, Day 599

Turkeys in our field vying for what shade they can find

Everyday I start to write about the heat, I realize what I’m prone to say has already been said, and what’s worse, by me last summer. So instead I offer this retrospective of life on a desert planet, otherwise known as much of the Midwest lately and more specifically from my vantage point, Kansas:

Meanwhile, let’s toast a large glass of iced water to cooler days ahead, maybe even in the low 90s (be still, my heart!) and continue to inside-out and outside-in our lives in search of air-conditioning and joy.

One thought on “My Hottest Writing: A Retrospective: Everyday Magic, Day 599

  1. Dan Pohl says:

    Hi Caryn,

    I know how you feel on hot days like this. After struggling with a poem for three days, and it would not let me have its spirit, I was on our deck in the morning on the 15th sipping iced coffee with this monstrous, evil little child of a poem that would not talk with me, and I glanced to my left and saw this:

    One Hundred Degrees and Bees

    At such temperatures, my heart is with the honey bees
    That have returned, and when one bumps another, it takes
    A while for them to settle down together, the bar crowd
    That wants to satisfy its empty thirst, taking tiny communion

    Without wafers, only crossing each other while waiting
    A turn by circling above the half-empty birdbath, waiting
    To find a place to land among drones, if only one would
    Leave from the morning’s fill of the delicious, fresh water.

    To cool the hive, they drink up to bursting; then they step
    Back, turn around slowly as not to disturb anyone, for
    Politeness, then head northeast, complaining a little louder
    With heavy cooling cargo, sloshing on a fast return home

    Two leave; three return, all day until dark. They
    Continue the worship in their ring, bowing to the
    Life giving liquid, worshipers who do so in short
    Prayers before they take off, flying hard, lifting

    A little nosier in buzz, and briefly, as briefly as a bee can–
    Regard and regret the fallen few who either by mistake or
    Nearsightedness, misjudged the distance to find themselves
    Trapped by the surface tension for the payment of sacrifice

    The other poem is in my bad child drawer at home and may come out when it’s time to behave, next week maybe.

    Congrats on the book. No response needed.

    Keep cool,

    Dan Pohl

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