Jake tasted his fate, it felt to bite his tongue. The shudders of impending gloom failed to deaden the discomfort, they only competed for his attention. He attempted to clear his mind. He failed. He sought to think of joyous past events – they all paled against his sense of a life defeated. He tried to recall his turning point. For each one, an even earlier one awakened. And so his memory taunted him, that is, until the long-since denied scent of honeysuckle revived his childhood delight. To a time when he stood alone, encircled by honeysuckle bushes, enraptured by their scent, entranced by the tiniest drop of nectar that he licked from the delicate pistil tips.The countless bees ignored his presence. The abundant supply of succulent sweetness instilled a peace, a harmony, an understanding; all of which he would learn to forget. He grew to earn his detachment. A fleeting thought to his current circumstances rendered the recollection of the nectar all the sweeter. He forgot why he ceased to taste of the honeysuckle. Child’s play, perhaps. But taste of it again, he did, as he took stock of his present and imagined his future.