Last Monday morning on Moon doggie and I’s regular route we had the great and good fortune of coming across a swarm of bees bunked up for the night on a tree. I ran Moon home and came back with the camera. (Moon is absolutely indignant in the company of bees) It was still chilly enough that the swarm was undulating but mostly intact. Just the first few individuals were venturing off the mass. Those on the bottom and shady sides were still: stone cold still, with body temperatures too low to move. Because of their early morning inactivity I was able to photograph them from about 3 inches and got some pretty great photos right up until they started to get tangled in my hair… just a couple, but it seemed like a good and polite time to make my exit. A few of the bees escorted me out of the area. One followed me about half way home. It was a beautiful sight to see.

Equinox Writing prompt: write a one act play.

Warm up:
1. Describe two characters in one or two sentences each.
2. Briefly describe the setting, in two or three sentences.
3. In four words, what are they doing?

1. Father Sun: A hot headed, fireball; omnipresent. Likes to dance the tango, always takes the lead.
Mother Earth: Broody (as in Mother hen) gracious, loving, and giving. Loves to dance the tango, surrenders to the lead of her partner… mostly.
2. Father Sun and Mother Earth are out for the evening, local smoke filled bar, the usual crowd: drunks, maniac dancers and lonely people. Live tango music plays loudly in the background.
3. Celebrating Equinox; date night.

Now spend 30 minutes writing the play.

Cosmic Date Night

Mother Earth slips on her six inch eel skin stiletto heels, musing to herself, “the sacrifices we make to beauty, not just beauty but to beguile and shake our booties!” Father Sun clicks his heals and cinches in his cummerbund of fire and molten lava, volcanic ash trails in his wake. Equinox: the great cosmic tango is about to begin.
Father Sun opens the door for his great and abundant beloved. They enter the sacred space of a smoke filled bar. A tango band is warming up in the corner. They stand on the edge of the great void, which appears to be an obsidian stage strewn with fallen stars, sparkling and twinkling at their feet. The air is thick with tobacco and copal. Grandfather Coyote is playing. Grandfather Coyote is playing every instrument, simultaneously. The music is earth shattering.
Mother Earth begins to ooze, life pours out. She is one fertile hot tamale! Her dress is deep dark moss green velvet. You can see small mammals dropping, like loose sequins to the floor. As her hips sway, new life scurries in every direction. She is stunning, all eyes are upon her. Father sun bows to her, silently asking with his simmering eyes and takes her hand. At his touch, the planet shifts on its axis. They embrace in the classic tango pose. Their eyes lock. The oceans begin to rock and heave, spilling over; steam rises up from their intimate proximity. The bar is now one vast sweat lodge. Everyone is purified. Everyone is weak in the knees. Everyone. The apricot trees, in full bloom, bow their heads, bat their eyes and blush; their blossoms fall to the ground, they are left naked and pregnant with abundance. He leads her into their first ocho. It is an endless procession of ochos; like waves breaking on the eastern and western shores of the Pacific. She is lost in the fire of his gaze. Time stands still, holding its breath. She beguiles him. He is at her mercy. They are both helpless victims of their own magnificence. Nothing will ever be the same. They breathe the same breath. The whole world is in divine agony: the aching, the longing, the magic! Grandfather Coyote plays on and on. They are reduced to cosmic rubble. And all is made right with the world.

Shar Shk Buk X 3- 20-14

There was one thing upon which I could always depend: the grace and beauty of spring. I watched, waited and set my psyche’s clock by Her rebirth. Every year, year after year… Her bright green buds and delicate white blossoms: two unfailing constants and the promise of fruit that they carried were with me, always. She fostered a lonely child with new life, hope and this promise: a kind of abundance perhaps most children do not know. She was an apricot and the sheer volume of her abundance fed the neighborhood. She was, literally, my hope and strength, the center of my universe. She was the proverbial Tree of Life; She fed me then and She feeds me now. She is more responsible than any other for the woman I am. She is the best in me. She lives in me forever and me in She.

Apricot Turtle Sauce (July 31st. 2004, Arboles, CO)
Growing up in southern California I had the difficult experience of being an orphan in my own home. At about the age of two I came to be the foster child of a majestic and wise old apricot tree. As I grew it was She who fed and nurtured me. When I was old enough to climb, She held me for hours in her arms. For twenty years She blessed me as her child and is greatly responsible for the woman I am today. We were joined early on by a turtle (desert tortoise) named Corky. Every spring Corky and I would watch the apricot blossoms come and go. And then at last the fruit would ripen and fall. This was our mutual feasting time. Forty years later I feel great peace and joy climbing up into the arms of another wise old Apricot. I harvest again Her bounty and remember how Corky, below, so close to Mother Earth chomped the fallen fruit, his face smeared with pulp and dripping with juice. It truly was heaven on Earth.
The recipe:
With great reverence and gratitude climb up into the loving arms of a wise old apricot and pick a large bag of ripe fruit. This first step is most important, as it will connect you to Mother Earth in a way that will allow you to feel your absolute dependence on Her for your sustenance. A humble prayer and a fist full of sacred corn meal will seal the deal. If you have trouble feeling the reality of this exchange pound your fist full of corn meal against your heart three times to activate your heart chakra. This offering is many things but with a closed heart it is but a dead ritual.
Now wash and pit about seven pounds of apricots. (Remember to plant a seed or two for the generations to come.) Chop about half of the apricots and simmer in a heavy bottomed pan with a cup of water to get things started. Cook them down until they begin to mush. Add ¼ C. lemon juice, 1 C. molasses, 3T. ancho chili powder and 3T. cinnamon. Continue simmering and melt in four 3 oz. wheels of Mexican Chocolate, or any other nice chocolate that suits your fancy. Stirring almost constantly, continue chopping and adding apricots as everything cooks together. When you have a full pot, cool a spoon full for tasting, adjusting everything by taste and smell. It should be sweet and sour, fruity with a nice chili kick and have the powerful aroma of chocolate permeating your home. You will know you have a fine Apricot Turtle Sauce if when you taste it you begin to weep. If our human mothers have forgotten much of what we need to know, Mother Earth has not!