Today I rode home in a gentle rain and there are rumors of snow for tomorrow, which is quite a contrast from the warm sunny days we had on Saturday and Sunday.
On Saturday when I arrived home from work, I was instantly lured to the patch of crocuses once again. This time I noticed a flurry of activity; there were dozens upon dozens of honey bees swarming the flowers.
Honey bees are so diligent and industrious in their collection of nectar and pollen, I enjoy watching them and I always hope a bit of their solid work ethic will rub off on me. On Saturday though, the words “diligent” and “industrious” did not describe these insects. Words like “frantic” and “hyperactive” were much more accurate. These bees had no chill.
I don’t blame them.
At least in my mind, I imagine the existence of a bee to be something like this…
Winter comes and for endless months the bees are cooped up in their hive. There is nothing to do but eat, sleep, stare at the endlessly hexagonal honeycomb and trade yarns about past adventures in the wide, wide world.
By the end of winter the bees are all irritated and antsy, having been infected with an acute case of hive-fever.
But one glorious day a few bees that went on a scouting expedition return buzzing with excitement.
“The flowers are back!”
Instantly, the hive is in an uproar and the bees wiggle their way out of the honeycomb and launch themselves into a bright blue sky. The sun warms their wings and the breeze guides them gently onward. Flying as fast as their winter-weakened muscles will allow, they speed on in the direction of the flowers. (Well, they hope they are: everyone was so excited that they didn’t really bother to pay attention to the instructions from the scouting bees.)
After what seems like a never ending flight, the bees finally spot the flowers. Naturally they make a…well, you know; beeline for them. As they approach the crocuses, a heady, intoxicating smell greets them.
And that is when the bees go completely, absolutely berserk.