A Wizard Be

Little birds chirped, their pronouncement of the day, from upon the twigs and branches; where their balcony's of Oaken groves and coned giant's sway. Soughing upon breezes. playing among frosted strands, for an old man's joy, who so delight's, as they strum upon his hair, in the words they have to say. 

For this is Merlin, stoke's a little fire, from clay bed in the forest floor; nearby a quiet stream of running water. He's gathered all delicious herbs, from here and there, about the wild. He's taken them at times of  moon, or times of sun, enchanting them on walks, both deosil and widdershins. Considering the dark enriching earth...he'd leave a few for god and goddess's purview.

He temptingly enfolds the truffle'd lot in blackened pan, and then...the real treat; his first spring eggs, about the time of Eostar, whipped in, with a bit of wooden stick...he'd found. Quarter palm sized stones of speckled brown on white...three times, three wishes granted for his stomach sake..."god bless the birds of heaven, that do make these wond'rous  charms."

There, beside the fire...on it's hearth of flattened river stones...he takes his leave to let it cool, smelling that good odor of an incense known to bring a man to life, that first full meal since the winter's cease. Returning he, from meadow, there...to reconnoiter, he heard a buzz, and there...upon his skillet sate a little bee...gorging his repast.

"Buzz off! Buzz off!" he gently said..."gee find ye own, for this be mine...entire." But the little bee, ignoring he...continued on. Merlin being Merlin, wasn't cross...for a lonely man was he, so, befriended the wee thing and let it be. And they, as happ'ly as two were ever, caressed the meal with grace...until every crumb was gone.

"So, go on, little one", the Wizard spake, but it would not...then lit upon his hand, where dancing deocil...it said "I hold a gift for thee, yonder...over there", and flew. Curious, Merlin followed, for he'd heard the words such fast little wings had spoke. There, where his buzzy bee had led, were a tree all dead and hollow; deep within, a prize of golden flowing amber.

Nay one sting, did the wee bees of the hollow strike, for they said...''Ye were kind to our fellow, our wee 'buzz'...now ye are a friend"., and they swarmed upon his clothes and they kissed him and left, and promised him ever...their sweet nectar. The buzzy bee again came near his ear and asked..."may I visit thee, from time to time...for I too, am different from my kind and lonely?"

Thus, they did, and ne'er a stranger bond, than a bee, the wizard called 'buzz', and the man who is a 'Seer'. All the spring time and summer, onto fall...where the when, a wizard made them all a nest to see them through the strike of freeze and snow...and even through the midst of that, that wee bee would whisper in his ear..."Time for tea, my friend...for tea...good morning thee".


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Russian artist, Andrei Shiskin, Druid