Roads to Joy

In mid-October, after a bout of heavy frost, so heavy there was thick morning ice on the windscreen of the little Fiat Panda, I’d have thought the bees would be safely ensconced in their hives for the duration.

Not a bit of it: come the warm mid-day sun, and the Mahonia, rampant in our front garden and festooned with brilliant yellow blossom, was full of buzz. The bees weren’t interested in me, as their entire attention was focussed on havesting what pollen or nectar they could find. Last year I’d trimmed the big shrub back considerably, without regard to the emerging flowers, but this year I let all the pendular flower stalks stay. Both the bees, and I, were delighted with the result.

But more than just the display of colour, I like that sense of getting on with the task at hand, discounting all possible interruptions and being busy with work. Of course, the Mahonia itself has been putting its own energy into getting its blossoms out. These things work together, and I am merely an observer of natural industry.

I keep coming back to this sense of timelessness that accrues when minds are occupied with a task, this lovely sense of a loss of self and of being subsumed in an activity that demands concentration and attention to detail. For a writer, as fingers dance over the keys and thoughts are laid down, exposed and vulnerable, this sense is something to be sought out, even though procrastinating activities do tend to get in the way.

Call it frost of an autumn morning, or cobwebs in a lazy mind, but whatever the reason, I find myself making many excuses to avoid settling down to work. I probably need to take more lessons from the busy bees, to search for the emergent blossom, and to get stuck into the creative sensibility that exalts an otherwise indulgent consciousness.

In my defence, however, I must note that the bees do get positive reinforcement for their labours, as they collect copious pollen for the benefit of the hive, while writers in their own process tend to eke out a more ascetic existence, receiving scant rewards during the creative process, apart from the feedback their own watching, internal editor proffers.

Perhaps that’s why I usually jump right into the fray when asked for help on any project that involves words. Even when that jump means procrastinating on my own work. That sense of mutual benefit somehow conspires to amplify the gratification when the project is fulfilled. Perhaps I’m more of a busy worker bee, cheerfully buzzing around for the benefit of the collective colony, than I’ve realised!