Driving home to fetch honey he drooled at the prospect of drizzling it over figs tonight and toast tomorrow. He chuckled over the calamity of forgetting to take it with him. How would he get through his day with all he had to do if he was unable to enjoy the one pleasure that he looked forward to daily? He reflected on the qualities of honey. How it reminded him of the important things in life; its sweetness, the way it slid off the spoon – softly, smoothly, evenly and with stately grace. Its viscosity allowed it to cover everything in perfect proportions – right up to the corners or in the holes. His sister claimed that a proper Christian made certain the honey spread all over. Then he met a gorgeous girl. His father said he shouldn’t bother with her because she insisted on spending weakends with him, and that because she spelled week as weak, she wasn’t worth the trouble. But he had no qualms or quandaries about her because she adored honey. He often deliberated on how all this came from bees digesting and regurgitating nectar. As he opened the front door he called out, “Honey, sorry I forgot to collect you. Please make sure you bring the honey with you when you come.”

©Verity Short