So much has passed through my mind, gotten lost, or buried in the litter of years, in a drawer shut for so long that when it was opened, it exhaled a musty smell as if an animal had once lived there. Memories reveal emotions that bind me, rooted, yet constantly shifting like grasses still tender and green in the fields of October. Shining in sunlight, they tease and beckon before the frosts. In astonishing silence, the bee lit on my lap, its velvety coat striped black-and-yellow. I meant to brush it off, but changed my mind. With the barest touch, it rose up and away.