Tamaryn

Tamaryn released Cranekiss yesterday. It's really good. Her 2010 The Waves is really f*****g good, and it's blistering out of my Zenith at 10:51pm on a Saturday night. I'm on the sofa, alternating the tapping out of P&L spreadsheets with red wine and deep drags on a spliff of dried raspberry leaf.

This morning I ran a route I frequent when I'm trying to sort things out. The air was heavy with drizzly mist and this bizarre, energetic pressure from the Sturgeon Moon that would rise at approx 11:30am. I could get super Woo Woo and tick off the reasons you felt disconnected from your frontal lobe today, but I ain't your witch mama. Just know there was a reason for it. 

There are massive, blousey magnolias on the bottom of hill that marks my turn back home. A nearly blown-out bloom was on the lower branches, just in reach when I stretched to bring it's dinner-plate face down to mine. I breathed it in like one should drink, and just as I was about to let it float back, a honeybee droned in.

She clumsily flipped around in the pile of matchstick stamens caught in the cup of the lowest petal. She hummed her way to the center and out and again, landing on what must have looked like fresh powder, or the surface of milk. I watched her, sweating - slightly distracted by the notion I should be running, not standing and sweating and watching this bee. Never present enough.

And I wondered if this bee even took this dram of sweetness back to the hive. Did she just stay on this milk skin, drunk on perfume, and flip around on matchsticks of fertility all day. I kinda wished I were her.