The nectar sat, untouched
fermenting like cherry soda
in the June heat.
I waited, but you didn't come
when the wine berries ripened in July
when I tied crimson ribbon to the trees,
where it flashed like ruby slippers,
when we planted bee balm and purple salvia
drawing fat bumblebees to the yard,
you didn't come
when I exchanged red nectar for clear,
when we moved the birdbath
filling it twice a day,
still, nothing, not yet
until I realized the final piece
was all about me.
to have patience,
to be still,
to sit like aging wood, letting time slow...
You came, your blurred wings humming,
beak needle thin,
helping yourself to handmade nectar
answering my invitation
with the gift of your tiny magic