Secret, sacred dancing

(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.

It did.

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.