A Guilt-Free Pause

Honey For The Heart - 27

The sun had barely stretched its arms over the treetops when Piggy arrived at Bumble’s den, a basket swinging from his snout and a sparkle in his eyes.

“Let’s take the long trail today,” Piggy trumpeted. “Where the little brook hugs the big river.”

Bumble peeked out, fur ruffled, eyes full of worry. “I can’t, Piggy. The honey jars still need sorting, the beehive logs updating… and the winter nuts… I haven’t even started counting.”

Piggy blinked slowly. “Bumble, none of that’s going anywhere. But this beautiful morning? It’s already slipping away.”

Bumble hesitated… paw half-raised, heart half-torn. “What if I lose the rhythm I’ve worked so hard to keep?”

Piggy just smiled. “Sometimes, rest is the rhythm.”

And with that, he padded into the woods, not waiting for an answer.

They wandered through bramble-kissed trails and over sleepy moss, the forest stretching and yawning awake around them. But Bumble's mind raced to unfinished tasks, urgency buzzing like a trapped bee in his chest.

Every birdcall felt like a ticking clock. Every rustle, a reminder: “Shouldn’t you be working?”

When they reached the bend where the brook met the river, Piggy plopped down on a sun-warmed rock. The water danced freely, unconcerned. A heron glided above, unhurried and unapologetic.

Bumble stood stiff. “Piggy… I feel wrong being here. Like I’m stealing time. Like the world might race ahead without me.”

Piggy looked at him with soft knowing. “Look at that brook, Bumble. Do you think it worries it’s not fast enough, or asks permission to rest in the river’s arms?”

Bumble sat down slowly. “But there’s still so much left to finish.”

“There always will be,” Piggy said gently.
”That’s the trick the forest plays on busy paws like yours… makes you think stopping is what causes the stumble. But really… it’s all that constant buzzing that wears the wings thin. Even trees pause in winter, Bumble. Not because they’re lazy, but because they know when to rest their roots.”

They watched dragonflies trace lazy spirals through sunbeams. The brook hummed lullabies into the river’s ear.

Bumble lowered his voice. “Sometimes I wonder… if I stop, even for a little while, will I lose the only part of me that feels useful?”

“Some days aren’t meant to be useful,” Piggy whispered. “They’re meant to be beautiful.
To refill you.
Renew you.
Remind you… you’re not a task to complete.
You’re a being. And beings need breath to keep becoming.”

Bumble looked out at the river, its surface rippling in lazy gold. The tension didn’t vanish, but it eased, finally.
Guilt, like a fog, began to lift, parting gently as the sunlight found him.

The world hadn’t collapsed.
The sky still held.

And in that quiet, unproductive pause,
Bumble, at last, let the moment hold him... guilt-free.