Bumblebees know Flowers

I know life like bumblebees know flowers.

If I was writing an essay on life that's what I would say, "I know life like a bumblebee knows flowers."

Last week I wrote my life is a like a leaf drifting amongst the eddies and currents of a stream, a river, an ocean. Whether held up against a rock or going over a waterfall, I am still like a leaf on the currents of life. Life is hard like that. How can a leaf know the ocean?

Why are America's hard working people scorned as leading dull dead lives, un-artistic, un-poetic, inarticulate? I admire the hard working. The hard working poor of America, of the world. Where is the sin of caring for yourself or your family by driving nails or driving trucks, by laboring? What happened in America that the hard working became a subject of scorn, ridicule, mocking?

All over the world, the hard working people are going to the plant every day, going to the field every day, going to the office every day. Going to the job every day, day after day not because it is fullfilling but because it is necessary. I can't find the fault. I don't know what it is like to drive oxen in India or mine diamonds in Africa or pick coffee beans, but Judy Collins sang a song called "Let's Drink to the Salt of the Earth," let's do that.

I wanted to be an artist and didn't quite make it.
Jean wanted to be a teacher and didn't quite make it.
Janice wanted to be an accountant and didn't quite make it.
Jerry wanted an outdoor profession and didn't quite make it.

But we all labored our way to where we are.

I only know my flower, but I can imagine a garden out there.
I only know my leaf, but I can imagine an ocean out there.

Now I will go sit in my dinosaur chair and be quiet.