Came home from work on Thursday and found this little bumble bee just resting on the downward facing petal of one of my asiatic lilies. I watched him for awhile and could not tell if he was drowsy on a warm and muggy summer's afternoon, or just stupor drunk on pollin. What would a bee imagine in a moment like this, if a bee could imagine?
THE BEE is not afraid of me,
I know the butterfly;
The pretty people in the woods
Receive me cordially.
The brooks laugh louder when I come,
The breezes madder play.
Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?
Wherefore, O summer’s day?
~ Emily Dickinson, 1830-1886
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1 comment:
Keep up the good work. thnx!
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