I walked down the back lane with my dog, Oreo; he's a mix of Border Collie, German Sheppard and Golden Retriever—dogs don't discriminate. I stopped and smelled the pink and white blossoms on the crab apple tree and listened to the bees buzzing through it, gathering pollen. Do bees know why they make honey or do the just know it needs to be done and do it without complaint? A couple geese honked a hello as they flew overhead and my gaze turned skyward. No tools, no money, no worries, everything just playing its part . . . perfection.