The Way A Bee Loves A Flower

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I am reminded of yet another recent story. In the house, I found an insect on it’s back slowly moving it’s legs in futility. I investigated and found it to be a dying bee too weak to right itself. I thought “if I was going to die I would want to be outside on the coolness of the ground under the warmth of the sun”. So I gently scooped up this little bee and went outside to put it on a clover flower. It was too weak to hold on so it tumbled off. I picked some clover flowers to place near it. The way I saw it embrace that flower brought tears to my eyes. This is the definition of Love. The way a dying bee loves a flower. The way the flower loves the sun. The way I love the bees and flower. This is Love.  If only people knew this Love at a more conscious level.

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