Bees

Before I rounded the corner, I heard them: the dull hum of dozens of bees fluttering from flower to flower. From the winter rain came budding growth, and the hillside trail became overgrown, flowering weeds sprouting into the thin, dusty trail. I apologized to the bees as I pressed forward, rocking stems with my shins. In forgiveness, they decided not to sting.

No. 048

Focus

To focus on a run, I’ll go without my glasses. Some may call this dangerous, but there’s a freedom in turning the world around me into passing blurs of pastel motion. The action turns meditative. Then, returning to stasis, I place the glasses on the bridge of my nose. In the corner of my eye a flash of movement. I turn my head—a neighbor leans against his balcony, blowing vape smoke into the air. His eyes are fixed on me, dripping sweat in the courtyard.

No. 040