Sunday Best – July 21, 2024
One great thing about beekeeping is that it can offer a compressed view of life’s greatest realities. For example, right now it is prime brood-building season, with dozens of bees born every day in a healthy hive. The circle of life is spinning ‘round at dizzying speeds.
The other day, I spotted several cells that were partially open, with tiny antennae poking out above. A bunch of baby bees were emerging! Other bees that were passing by would stop to exchange some signals of their own, which had me thinking of the amazing mysteries of non-human communication. But then in the very next instant, the visitors would step on the eyeballs of their soon-to-be sisters, which is hard to romanticize as a loving welcome.
A few minutes later, after a long stretch of what can only be described as intense insect pull-ups, the baby bees had emerged and were already walking amongst their sisters, undetectable except for their lighter fuzz. You would never know that a few minutes beforehand they’d been sealed up in a wax cell. And that a few days ago, they were still gooey works-in-progress.
Dear ones, isn’t this all of life?
Glorious and tedious.
Miraculous and mundane.
Both at once, most of the time.
May we persist, even when our own kin step on our heads.
May we find the strength to emerge whole and healthy.
May we see the glory in our gooey work in progress.
Sunday Best – July 14, 2024
On my walk home the other night, a shadowy lump bolted across the sidewalk in front of me. I froze. The lump froze.
If you’ve ever walked the city streets at night, you know what the lumps are. In decades of urban life, I have seen approximately ten thousand furry shadows, and every single one of them has been a rat.
On this night, I took a breath, ready to hurry past.
The lump leapt into the light.
Not rat, but rabbit!
In my certainty I’d nearly rushed right by.
Dear ones,
may we all be on the lookout for a midnight bunny.
Even if – especially if –
she follows ten thousand rats.
Sunday Best – July 7, 2024
What better reminder of our complete lack of control in this chaotic world than a surprise thunderstorm? Unpredicted by all the fancy weather apps, it arrived just in time to soak through my grocery bag and send the lemons rolling across the walkway, while a puddle formed beneath the wide-open kitchen windows. For a moment, it was overwhelming. Bedlam.
Just five minutes later, I’d gathered the lemons, dried off my face, mopped up the puddle, and wandered back outside to find a tiny rainbow fragment overhead.
Dear ones, the storms will come. Sometimes surprising, and fierce.
May the downpours be brief.
May we be sheltered.
May we regroup.
May the rainbows rush in.
Sunday Best – June 30, 2024
Every day, I traverse the lagoon in the Boston Public Garden, where the Swan Boats glide through the summer. This spring I met a hawk right down at eye level, and once I saw a miraculous albino squirrel. During the pandemic I found myself leaning up against the largest trees, comforted by the idea that they had seen so much, and that this, too, would eventually pass.
This week, one of those oldest willows was lost to disease, marked by the ominous orange spot of the grounds crew, but also honored by them beforehand, so that visitors could admire the graceful arc of her branches one last time.
Dear ones, our whole world is precious in its passing.
May we cherish each second of vibrance,
each moment of grace.
Sunday Best – June 23, 2024
Sometimes it’s the big news that makes a week great – like ohhh, I don’t know, maybe your amazing hometown team wins a stupendous championship that unites the whole city in joy!
Other times, the tiniest moments matter.
I was coming out of the train station the other day and the man ahead of me was a little unsure of himself, wheeling a big suitcase awkwardly through the doorway. A person coming the other way barreled right through, shoving into my fellow passenger with a sneering comment.
Meanwhile, when it was my turn to exit, the person facing me looked up, gave a huge smile, stepped aside, and said, come on through! What a gracious human thing to do. Just five seconds of kindness, and yet days later it still makes me smile to think of this friendly courtesy.
Small and yet big.
Of course, giant productions like a duck boat parade with confetti and dancing in the streets can also be pretty neat.
Dear ones, let’s savor all the joys,
Micro to mega.
