This is the day called waiting-for-bees:
first warm noon after months of rain.
Oregon’s oldest apple tree explodes in white:
thousands of petals, wind-tousled, ask.
Buzz-absent air befuddles the quiet:
this tree should be loud with longing for pollen.
Where are the wings to bring on the apples?
Why this silence at the peak of spring?
The hum of the hive is a hymn to hunger.
Our species thrives by the beat of bees’ wings.
The question stands as the tree stands, and longer;
this is the day called waiting-for-bees.
By Christine Colasurdo
Christine Colasurdo is the author of Return to Spirit Lake: Life and Landscape at Mount St. Helens and The Golden Gate Parks: A Photographic Journey. She has received a Fishtrap Fellowship and US Forest Service residency. She teaches creative writing at the Multnomah Arts Center in Portland, Oregon. http://www.christinecolasurdo.com