A steady scattering
of honeybees and skippers
have spent the morning milking
the sage's deep blue flowers
long slender cups extending
from their papery black sepals
jewels set along the spikes
that rise up from the leaves
I sit back in my garden chair
watching the busy sippers
and gatherers of pollen
plying their subtle craft
insects and flowers glowing
in the warm October sunshine
the quiet broken only
by the whirr of tiny wings
my mind emptied of thoughts
distills the morning's nectar
not drowsy only lulled
by the stillness of the hour