Lilac, and Liquorice

July 16 2012

Down by the shore

on a flat spit of land

of sand, and gravel

and scrubby grass,

a small stand of plants

has rooted itself.

Actually, just one,

a metastatic clone

on subterranean runners,

consuming sun

colonizing soil.

Small white flowers

in delicate cones

rise knee-high,

redolent of lilac, and liquorice.

The intense fragrance overwhelms,

like an old lady

who has lost her sense of smell

and reeks of perfume.

You can hear the bees from 20 feet,

warning, swarming

foraging for food.

So I go slow

down to my rustic beach,

try slipping through

invisibly.

“Busy as a bee”

is no idle saying.

I admire their industry,

conscientious bees

who somehow make a living

in our short summer, up north,

then that much more

to last the winter.

So we live and let live,

keep a respectful distance.

The property owner

willing to risk eviction.

The invasive plant

which has colonized the spit.

And the band-saw hive

who ferociously gorge,

sweet abundance

in this window of warmth.