The Bee at Her Last Night

I saw her at the edge of day, a bee bent low upon a wild flower. Her wings were faint, her breath a trembling thread of life. She did not turn toward the hive. She lingered in the orchard’s fading light, to watch the autumn sky stretch wide and clear above the earth. She was old now, and every movement heavy with years. Yet in her stillness there was a kind of peace. If morning came to her, she would rise once more, take one last grain of pollen, and bear it home in quiet duty. But if no dawn would open her eyes, the flower would hold her body, the sky would keep her soul, and the orchard would remember her rest. I stood and watched in silence, and thought of man, how short his time, how proud his wandering. O learn from the bee: to work with love, to serve with care, to find beauty in the sky at dusk, and to leave the world gently, as if it were enough.