I love Emily Dickinson and am proud to share with her a love of nature and an excessive fondness for bees! Yesterday, while walking in the woods, I came across so many burly dozing ones, honey-heavy, bees fluttering from flower to flower, truly justifying the metaphor busy as a bee. I love the sight of a bee, how cleverly it suspends itself mid-air, its gossamer-thin wings supporting the weight of its body, greedily sipping nectar from a flower and yet never ever trampling the petals or crushing the aroma.... Emerson calls the bee a "zig-zag steerer, desert cheerer". Truly, he's a sailor of the atmosphere, sailing through the air and a yellow-breeched philosopher....
His labour is a Chant —
His Idleness — A Tune
Oh, for a Bee's Experience
Of Clovers, and of Noon!
The Bee is not afraid of me.
I know the Butterfly.
The pretty people in the Woods
receive me cordially!
And then there is that wonderful haiku by the master himself - Matsuo Basho:
A bee
staggers out
of the peony.
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1 comment:
Lovely post.
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