Honey

As she began to write, a small drop of honey gently plopped onto the back of her hand. “What on earth?” she thought, putting down her pen to formally assess the situation. Now, logically, she knew she’d used honey in her coffee this morning. Could she have accidentally put honey in her hair? Perhaps. But who can interpret anything accurately before coffee? So either this honey drop managed its way into her messy head of curls or it had inexplicably fallen from above.

Honey was a bit like glitter—sparkly but hard to wipe away, making more of a mess than probably worth it. However, this single drop of honey felt like a little sparkle, a secret just for her.

Not having a napkin, there was only one thing left to do. “Goodbye little honey” she whispered as her finger scooped up the drop and placed it on her tongue. Back on track, she began writing: I have felt a bit outside of myself lately. I don’t feel rested and I can’t figure out why. I may be distracted to the point of putting honey in my hair. But, there is a small chance that a honey drop fell from somewhere else. She looked up at the ceiling. No sign of honey. Her lips slowly curved into a smile. She thought, “What if I just chose to believe that a tiny invisible fairy saw me struggling over feeling like a mess and decided that the only way to pull me out of my spiral was to drip a drop of honey onto my hand? And if that is to be true, then that very drip of honey had to drop from a tiny honey pot.”