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Late Summer, Beekeeping
There was a woman whose monk-chanting story said that monks sound like bees in a hive: Sense of self long gone. Sharing food. Speaking softly. Keeping clean. Dancing. Letting others know where to place their shoes when they come in. Oryoki. Po-Cha. Simple things. Letting weeds grow well. Not controlling. Riding broken bicycles, needing nothing else. A slung bag. Looking for flowers, or searching for the self. Green plants. Still not enough. Smokey tea, a few new faces. Keeper (abbot) checks in, takes away. Flowers bending down in fall. Dew in the morning. Sun at noon. Nightfall. Dreaming for nothing. Autumn empty ground. Many leaving. No one coming back.