More Honey

Honey bee sighs, the temperature, what is it, it’s been strange these last few days, less smog, and the flowers appear happy again, as for the droning sound of the machine, there is less of it, sure makes it easier to fly. Must be getting old he wonders, there has to be a reason for it. Birds, he dives, finds shelter in a tree, he watches them from his hideout, they are not flying that fast, everyone is having fun, could it be possible, has the world slowed down or am I getting old.

She walks the way to the large grocery, dainty steps, she is old but dignified, her head up right, very mannerly, she enjoys what see can see, space on the sidewalk, the young ones step aside, she smiles, just like the forties, she sighs, how the men would dip their hats, how long ago was that. This modern way, rush, even the microwave, food tastes better from the hob, how they expect to wrench taste from those modern conveniences. She has been dreaming these last few days, and the door has had more reasons to open. She no longer sits by the window wondering who will call, she has cakes ready for the next visitor, how it brings back the memory, how friends used to call, and no appointment was necessary. Modern living, even the old movies, there were real acting, not this sudden stuff, all gimmicks and thrill, so little real character. The stuff she sat through when the grand children came to visit, just so she could be near them, there heads like storks reaching for a fly in the air, extended towards the box, what a contraption, as if there was something worth watching these days.

She recalls, those were the days, the underwear, it meant something then, now they don’t wear any, she tingles inside, she’d a few admirers, just a raise of the hem, the sight of the stocking tops, it was enough to make them, uncomfortable, as her sister would say, why molly are you doing that, the look in the eye, do I really have to explain little sister, you will find out in time, men.

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