Beekeeper
Chance encounters with the blues
Beekeeper
I met a beekeeper who sang the blues we talked about winter tearing down walls glass of Allagash Marshall Tucker Band how others saw us land mammals roving cobblestone streets He had little sisters thousands of them thick with accents Long Island drawls steamy electronica shaking their asses in colorful dances Here was a man who turned pain into honey kept in red pots he leaned at the edge this land mammal leaning in, leering at the water’s raucous edge him and the angry tide We said goodbyes I wanted him to say something wise to tell my children like it’s not too late you unfired clay
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I travelled to Maine for a much-needed vacation recently. I met a musician who lived on a farm in upstate New York. We ate our lobster sandwiches and chowder at a cozy bar in Portland, and we shared about our lives and how we got there. He went off to play a gig at a sauna, and he thought that was as strange as I did. Good luck, beekeeper, sauna jammer, Long Islander.
I can’t remember his name.
I like the sense of lacking finality in this piece, a subtle reminder that not everything in life will feel as complete as we want it to.
An encounter I’m very glad you reflected and wrote upon.
“Here was a man who
turned pain into honey”
and a gig at a sauna. In my mind he is no less fantastic than a hookah-smoking caterpillar in a weird and wonderful word. Thank you for sharing the story 😊