The little honeybee child marveled at how the world worked. Instead of becoming daunted by the strange transgressions, by the weird, exotic quests, by the swiftly-changing tides, she simply absorbed them – took their wares for her own benefit, melded them into her mind, processed, thought, and dove into their curious depths when the time was fitting, when it seemed right. Otherwise, her headstrong nature was never quite guided by a strong hand – grasping various concepts and chasing after them with a bold finesse, promising to remember the hows and whys later, perhaps right before she slept, or while she dreamed. She’d been streamlined by audacity and short fuses, exploding and ablaze at the first sign of light, at the first shifting of shadow, at the glorious expression of color, of sight, of sound, of life, breathing into its glow, into its harmony, with such a feverish zest, with such a passionate frenzy, yearning to grasp and take hold of anything (everything). She’d done so much and so very little all at once, had pretended to be a sea monster in the oasis, had explored with Iskra and Clementine, had marveled at the beautiful wall of embers with Vaskra, and she knew, she understood, that there was more eternally awaiting around the bend (something marvelous and exquisite, something delightful, opulent, something to fill her thirst, her avaricious need).

But she spent her time basking in the puddles and pools, admiring their reflection of the midnight sky, the clouds, the dynamic galaxies, almost shifting her head and asking one of the many gathered there how it all worked, before another’s appearance hastily forged its way into the flats. It was distinct, a potent, powerful tug and pull, a catch and release, and her eyes followed the pathway, a moth to flames, to thunder, to lightning, climbing its numerous lines, etchings, and carvings until her gilded eyes landed directly on the beast in front of her. She only knew him seasons before, when her investigations and thoughts had brewed and burst out of her lungs like embers, like ash, and he’d fled, escaped, with only one word. Her stare widened, then quickly looked around to see if anyone else was nearby (perhaps he was addressing them), in disbelief that he’d arrived in front of her – this big, hulking, bulky man of stone and fur. But his glance seemed entirely fixated on her little, lithe form, and she was rooted to the spot, suddenly without movement or motion, still as a statue, only daring to breathe when her lungs craved it. She wasn’t scared, but riveted again, just as she had been before, enamored by his shape and strength, by the sculpted outline of brawn and power; she wanted to know everything about him, why he’d run, if he really did prefer butterflies over bees, what her mother and he had discussed before he’d flown into the sky, like he’d just escaped from ghosts and wraiths. The child’s head tilted, before her voice finally stoked back to life, remembering him only by his single reverberation. “Oh! Hi Geen!” She had no way of comprehending his prior exclamation, that it had not been his calling, not even close, but she continued on with her chirps and sprite-like qualities, chattering away as if they were lifetime friends (hommelby; she stuck into her mind, for later reference and pondering). “What are you doing here?” The girl forged on ahead, chattering, eyes glimpsing along the horizon, heavens, and then the ground. “Is it because of the puddles? They’re very pretty. Do you like the puddles more than butterflies or bees?” Then she gasped, astonished, as if uttering the finest of declarations. “That must be it! Your favorite things are the puddles.” Then she nodded, in firm agreement that the little pools were mystifying, enchanting, and worth the bias.

Melita

diamond in the flesh