Honey Sticks

As I sit here by the candle on my windowsill, I wonder. I wonder about many things, and many places. I wonder, at the moment, about these six sticks of flavored honey in my hand.

My brother had given them to me, saying they were from the fair. He told me one was honey, one was watermelon, root-beer and winter-mint, but he didn't know what the last two were.

I set down the four flavors I know. Holding the two unknown ones up to the light, I study them. One is a rich shade of red, like the pretty velvet seats in the theaters. The other is a tan yellow, like the baskets used for carrying the picked apples in summertime.

I then pick up the other four and hold all six to the light and think. The red and tan-gold look like the shiny red apples and new baskets, and the honey is clear silver, and a blue on one side. How can that be? The green winter-mint and watermelon, look like the watermelons that join the apples in the summer.

The six sticks are so similar, yet so different because of their color and taste. I think of the different types of people and wonder of they are like honey sticks: all different colors and from different cultures...

My name is called from another room, "Kathleen! Kathleen!" and I hurry to join my mother with supper, leaving the honey sticks to learn to love each other while I am gone. I suppose they are little people now, and I have to guide them through the world.