Delicate wattle buds hanging preciously in the air, framed by their yawning captor who, with great regiment keeps them together. The picturesque scene a corner-bound introvert’s dream, stems forcefully held in Captor’s cavity, like binding a spell, there is intention, this method has been carefully crafted. While one may initially joyfully glance upon this pleasing scene, the controversial feature, by us, the pollen is not meant to be captured; it is meant to roam free, bloated balls of yellow, tickling masses for striped bees and pollination, as they were intended, not for them to be wrenched away, stolen by a gardener’s gentle need to grasp hold of beauty in order for it to be specifically seen. But how was the gardener to know? The vivid yellow drew the pollen to her, perhaps reminded by the patriotic nature of yellow and green – “our land is girt by sea”, though, she should not be held accountable for anything other than introducing the pollen’s cruel captor to the bunch, a vase an unworthy adversary for bees which require pollen like this, to continue their fervent collections. The presence of the buds begins to annoy me, what, with their false bravado and natural cheeriness, I shan’t destroy this arrangement, but I am considering putting it away. Out of sight and out of mind, I release unto the hidden pollen a welcome, famished swarm. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image credit: Myself
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Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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