bees
winter bees
are few and far between;
a hardy bunch
but not seen when Jack Frost
cruises through the gardens;
tho when a temperate rain
pushes out the freeze,
for a few days at least,
they might, might, warm their wings
and venture out
seeking any bits of flora
that braves the cold,
perhaps the nubby viburnum blossoms,
or last late lingering coreopsis,
even a pansy that thumbs its nose
at the cold and gray;
a tip of the wool cap to the brave early winter bee,
a hero, indeed
*
spring bees,
harbingers of the verdant season,
HALLELUJAH!
hallelujah;
the hives warm up,
us too,
“get busy” is the rule of the season.
the fruit tree blossoms, pear plum and apple,
send out their siren song
looking for a hook up
with the bees,
and timing is, as they say,
everything.
with a little bee/blossom hootchy-coo
the fruits will develop
and if the early spring thunderstorms
stay at bay, it will be so.
then,
the great blossoming gets serious,
the oriental poppies, early bloomers,
entice the bees,
the bumbles go mad over the daphne flowers,
very early squash flowers, like mysterious caves
draw the bees in;
now they flitter off to the hives
with loads of yellow/orange pollen tattooed to their butts;
a beautiful sight!
the gardens, alive; the great pollinating ritual
in full force.
honey will be on its way in the mystifying geometric combs...
*
summer bees
don't complain about the heat,
like some humans i know (me!);
they have their tasks
and the queen is, well,
THE QUEEN.
early june,
first warmest days and the hives heat up
until a breakaway faction, rebels with a cause,
makes off with a competing queen;
thousands swarming in a deafening buzz
often stopping in our old ancient apple tree for the night
before moving on;
'tis a sight, hanging there like a giant football in the tree,
they surround the single queen, undulating,
keeping her warm and safe for the night.
there's a singular joy in observing the bees
deep in trumpet vines, clutched on the sweet honeysuckle
where the pollen is rich and thick
where they maneuver
in a determined crowd
to do what needs to be done.
the hot season stretches on,
the honey bees and bumblers
never missing a beat with their appointed tasks....
autumn bees
must sense the seasonal shift
towards the darkening and cool,
the time of grade A pollen collecting diminishing.
the beautiful boisterous autumn aster flowers, almost invisible
in the mad scramble of buzzing activity,
give it up, gladly,
and the symbiotic miracle of pollination and sustenance is intact.
late fuchsias entice a lone buzzer, others dance from
old flower to old flower seeking a late fresh bloom;
the time of retreat from the waning gardens
grows nigh:
the great wheel turns,
a cycle of mystical seasons yet again
completed.
*
to the bees, the small, the mighty,
THE GLORIOUS BEES,
i say,
where oh where would we be
without you?
* * *
(c) rae
12-11-17
(with an apology to anyone with bee allergies! may your paths not cross in adverse ways)
winter bees
are few and far between;
a hardy bunch
but not seen when Jack Frost
cruises through the gardens;
tho when a temperate rain
pushes out the freeze,
for a few days at least,
they might, might, warm their wings
and venture out
seeking any bits of flora
that braves the cold,
perhaps the nubby viburnum blossoms,
or last late lingering coreopsis,
even a pansy that thumbs its nose
at the cold and gray;
a tip of the wool cap to the brave early winter bee,
a hero, indeed
*
spring bees,
harbingers of the verdant season,
HALLELUJAH!
hallelujah;
the hives warm up,
us too,
“get busy” is the rule of the season.
the fruit tree blossoms, pear plum and apple,
send out their siren song
looking for a hook up
with the bees,
and timing is, as they say,
everything.
with a little bee/blossom hootchy-coo
the fruits will develop
and if the early spring thunderstorms
stay at bay, it will be so.
then,
the great blossoming gets serious,
the oriental poppies, early bloomers,
entice the bees,
the bumbles go mad over the daphne flowers,
very early squash flowers, like mysterious caves
draw the bees in;
now they flitter off to the hives
with loads of yellow/orange pollen tattooed to their butts;
a beautiful sight!
the gardens, alive; the great pollinating ritual
in full force.
honey will be on its way in the mystifying geometric combs...
*
summer bees
don't complain about the heat,
like some humans i know (me!);
they have their tasks
and the queen is, well,
THE QUEEN.
early june,
first warmest days and the hives heat up
until a breakaway faction, rebels with a cause,
makes off with a competing queen;
thousands swarming in a deafening buzz
often stopping in our old ancient apple tree for the night
before moving on;
'tis a sight, hanging there like a giant football in the tree,
they surround the single queen, undulating,
keeping her warm and safe for the night.
there's a singular joy in observing the bees
deep in trumpet vines, clutched on the sweet honeysuckle
where the pollen is rich and thick
where they maneuver
in a determined crowd
to do what needs to be done.
the hot season stretches on,
the honey bees and bumblers
never missing a beat with their appointed tasks....
autumn bees
must sense the seasonal shift
towards the darkening and cool,
the time of grade A pollen collecting diminishing.
the beautiful boisterous autumn aster flowers, almost invisible
in the mad scramble of buzzing activity,
give it up, gladly,
and the symbiotic miracle of pollination and sustenance is intact.
late fuchsias entice a lone buzzer, others dance from
old flower to old flower seeking a late fresh bloom;
the time of retreat from the waning gardens
grows nigh:
the great wheel turns,
a cycle of mystical seasons yet again
completed.
*
to the bees, the small, the mighty,
THE GLORIOUS BEES,
i say,
where oh where would we be
without you?
* * *
(c) rae
12-11-17
(with an apology to anyone with bee allergies! may your paths not cross in adverse ways)
