We heart NYC

Though there is such grieving down in the steamy south and across the wide world, and any reference to personal good-fortune seems like egomaniacal self-indulgence, one can't help but celebrate NYC. When one's beloved goes to NYC for the weekend and brings back a dozen marvelous bagels, most everything seems marvelous. And when one's beloved goes to NYC and brings back NYC Rooftop Beelicious Honey, made the by busy urban honey bees of the greatest metropolis in the world, especially when the honey is passed along by a marvelous NYC East Village-dwelling friend by the name of Cookie, even more things seem simply marvelous. What about those bees? They sure are busy. As is their man.

In the words of a girl who loved honey herself, the Dickinsonian oracle celebrates NYC:

Angels, in the early morning
May be seen the Dews among,
Stooping - plucking - smiling - flying -
Do the Buds to them belong?

Angels, when the sun is hottest
May be seen the sands among,
Stooping - plucking - sighing - flying -
Parched the flowers they bear along.
(E. Dickinson, 73)