lunch on the restaurant porch in drowsy sunshine
bees keep knocking against the ginger beer, the white wine,
plate of cheese and apples
all of us saying our farewell to warm autumn
Bees grow bolder, persistent in the warmth
we bat them away with more ire
Later, just before rain,
we buy baskets of Concord grapes at the farm stand
We shake the baskets—a bee or two will burrow
deep into the dark purple fruit
bury themselves in color and sweetness, slow moving or still—
these we gently nudge onto the farm counter
into a last splash of sunlight
to warm their chilly, sticky limbs
and let them fly once more
