On quest of beauty I rode far
with dreams for a guide and a falling star
a leaping stag, a golden bee
I found you under a wishing tree.
Happy Wednesday. My wanderings this past week made me think of the above poem. I’m not sure where I learned it, but it stuck with me as a teenager. This past week I wandered into Pinawa, Manitoba where I found this lovely path below. And Below that, is a picture of a friend’s beehive. The bees in the photo are dead, but in winter that is a sign of life in a hive–such an interesting paradox.
Now every forest has its wishing tree
and every rose her golden bee.