chocolate is a verb

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Tag Archives: bees

found poem: making

found poem: breakfast

found poem: bees

found poem: We Observe

found poem: the sky

found poem: translucent

found poem: April


2016-03-04 plum

Oh, bees,
let the miasma of winter
slip from your wings
so long crimped in sleep.
The birds have been rehearsing
each morning in the shower —
fly into the random air,
listen to their chorus,
they understand the wind.

found poem: fool

with summer comes

purple allium…the industry of hymenoptera

The mason bees, which were busy in the early spring, are sealed into their private residences for the year, but now, as the day warms, a quiet air force works the garden, squadrons with clear targets and little crossover.

Purple allium bobs on long stems under the weight of honeybees, two or three on each spiky head. The lacecap hydrangeas, in full blowsy bloom, are abuzz with furry bumblebees packing yellow saddlebags of pollen. The plum trees, which have no flowers but are fat with ripe fruit, are patrolled by wasps: yellow jackets, paper wasps, hornets and thread-waists of various description.

Hard bee bodies click against sunlit windows. In shady spots near the house I discover (and discourage) starter nests — walnut-size clusters of cells or the first tender layers of paper. As I pull weeds, I find telltale traces of ground bees: chewed soil, tidy round openings.

They do their work, I do mine, mostly not interfering with one another, tending the garden, harvesting the bounties of summer.


signs of spring…

morning light…

bee shadowThe spring sun pours straight into the window, not for him the sidelong glances of winter and summer. The blinds, lowered a bit and canted against the glare, show a few darting shadows of bees.
bee on calla photo


Waking in the night to the unfamiliar ache of shoulders, knees, body rattled from its somnolence by the first earnest day of gardening after this long, wet and very cold winter. A day of sun and birdsong, spading compost into still-sodden beds where only a few earthworms have ventured upward from their winter sleep. Two mason bees combing the stickiness of first flight from their wings as they soak up the sun’s warmth on the south wall. A few tiny wasps tending the plum blossoms, which are already spreading their white petal-fall on the ground. As I tumble back into sleep, the rain returns to water the fava beans and peas, the new-mown patch of mossy lawn, the rolled-tight daffodils leaning toward morning.

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