work is for the birds

Labor day.  My morning feet were slow to take step.  It was work to get my body to the gate.  With deep inhalation, I opened my ears to welcome the depth of birdsong echoing from the surrounding woods.  The cacophony of winged creatures enveloped my senses.  This chaos was the sound of business getting done.  The work of nature was happening all around me.
The industry in place between alder limbs and sword fern furls was a complex system requiring layers of communication and movement.  My being stood alone but not autonomous from this sophisticated infrastructure.  My work was a cog in this beautiful spinning wheel.
And then my eye caught a wonderful surprise.  After months of walking by it, a glorious bee's nest was suddenly hanging square above my head.  Like an international airport, bumble bees entered and exited on schedule.  My mouth hung agape in awe.  I stood and witnessed their world in deep gratitude.
Love is work.  Work is love.  Loud and repetitive.  Chaotic and concise.  Work never stops.  It merely ebbs and flows in a day and through the night.  Work is being and we work to be.  One.