Aaron Paquette Journal

In the last days of Indian Summer, I saw a little bee going about his business, gleaning pollen from the few remaining flowers. This spoke to me of purpose. The bee knew what it had to do, and although the possibilties of finishing what he set out to accomplish were increasingly remote, he didn't falter.

Nor did he rush.

He took this time to meander quietly among the fading autumn land, perhaps taking in the last of the season in much the same way as I was, down by the river, in that wide clearing, crinkly with leaves. It's a slow time of year, and I can feel the world going to sleep. Autumn always tears me apart in two separate directions. On the one hand, I get the urge for going, a powerful draw to distant lands, places I've never seen. On the other, I want to make for myself a warm nest, and settle in, wrapped in the comfort of friends and family.

For now, I'll think about that little bee and sip my tea, flavoured as it is, with honey.