(Image from here)
Secret, sacred dancing
inside an orange petaled poppy tent.
Bee emerges, ecstatic.
Yesterday, I was reminded of this poem I wrote when I lived in Walnut Creek, California. I was sitting out on the patio with my 2 dogs in the late afternoon. My patio was like a jungle, filled with pots of flowers, fruit trees, orchids and herbs - I loved it and loved being outside puttering around in it or just relaxing in a chair.
Late one afternoon, the dogs and I heard loud buzzing coming from the poppy plant. It seems that a bumblebee was in the poppy, dancing around and the poppy was beginning to close as they do when the sun starts going down. The 3 of us stood transfixed, bent over the poppy watching the bee. I wondered if it was going to get out before the poppy actually closed.
This poem was my way of remembering how privileged I was to have had the experience of watching the bee dance in the poppy tent.