As a girl I heard that God would give us wings like eagles.
I never dreamt of eagles wings.
I longed for the delicate wings of the bee.
Small, yet mighty.
It wasn’t an eagles wings that flew me to the feet of the divine.
I was carried there on the wings of bees.
A colony. A hive.
Small, yet mighty.
They lifted me.
They guided me.
They took me to Her.
At Her feet I was left.
At Her table I was fed.
At Her side, I am learning.
She, who is the fire.
She, the living water.
She, the flamed haired one.
Brigid. Bríd. Brigantia.
Her name, like honey on my lips.
Her hands carried me - like so many bees.
And lay me down on a field of green.
Where I thrive.
Where I grow.
As a girl, I was told that God would help me rise up on the wings of eagles.
As a woman, I know that we don’t need eagles to survive.
We need bees.
