Bees everywhere. Sparring in the irises. Lurking on the back door handle (ouch!). Patrolling the newly cut grass. Mostly, however, they are in the pear tree.
There’s a varied crop of weeds, should the bees grow weary of pear nectar.
And, should my camera grow tired of bees, there are plenty of other visitors in the yard. I hope these two decide to stay. I would love a nest to watch!
Fiery breath roils through mantle bronchi
Flares forth from volcanic vents
Seamed between scales of shale
Into troposphere lungs, which are sky
Flora and fauna the intricate web
Of capillary
A delicate matrix, venule and arteriole
Mating to pass molecular necessities
From one organ to the next
From the dense liver that is land
The massive seven-lobed filter
Swollen with blood and bile
To the estuarine inlets of kidney
Loops of salt gradient and chemical pump
And pulsing tides, heartbeat wrung by the moon
To the alimentary marshes
Where everything rots and is passed
Down the vital chain, back into earth
Subducted deep underground
As one plate heaves its bulk atop another
In a colossal copulation that seeds nothing
But is felt by the unrenewable ones
The wingless ones who crave
Solace and brilliance and ecstasy
A brief moment in Gaia’s hungry mind
To glimpse her ancient memories
Before time passes down the vital chain
Dandelions? I’m eternally fascinated with them.
Purple Dead-nettle? I think it’s beautiful
However, even I have limits. Thistles are tough on my bare feet and the dog’s tender toes.
And ants? I don’t mind them in the yard, but they’re never content to stay in the yard. They always want to move into the garage, or the kitchen, or the mailbox…
But it’s good to have limits, isn’t it? Otherwise life would dissolve into a mad, messy carnival of happiness.
Hm.
On the other hand, thistles are quite pretty…
There’s so much going on that it’s hard to know where to look. If I focus my camera on the vultures wheeling overhead, I miss the carpenter bees zooming underfoot. There are crane flies mating and irises blooming and new visitations of wonder in every corner of the yard.
Marred by asymmetry, she is earthbound. Vulnerable and imperfect. Even on such a day as this, under such a sky, life is a painful, messy pursuit.
Rae Spencer 