Bee Blossom Botanicals
Offerings
Old Rose
Pink Roses and rain drops
Symbiosis
I sat on a small stool taking a breath from digging and weeding. Everything around me was alive. A tiny bright blue bug flew by. Tiny, the size of a pencil point and ever so bright.
Chickens scratched under pine needles for bugs and worms, so busy. Then back to the seed that’s called “scratch” for a bite of sweet treats. The chipmunk waited under a pile of old wood and stones. Maybe it’s safe now?
The honeybees check the asters for pollen so late in the season. Then a bumblebee doublechecks too. Maybe a tiny grain left behind?
Bird feeders with sunflower and thistle seeds. Suet for the woodpeckers. Nuthatches and chickadees like it too. Squirrels appear, grey and red, to rob feeders or clean up seed droppings.
Chammie, the dog, sniffs the air. What’s left for me? A tomato fallen to the ground? An apple or maybe some exotic droppings from a doe the previous evening?
Maggie, the cat, stalks the chipmunk. Too many hiding places to catch him unaware - woodpile, tunnels under the barn, oak logs where mushrooms grow, the porch railing. She chases a leaf and runs up the old elm. The autumn air stirs her aging body.
Porcupine arrives. Apple drops. Pears. Grapes. Tender raspberry shoots from new plantings. Options abound.
A symphony of activity unfolds.
I sat on a small stool taking a breath from digging and weeding. Everything around me was alive. A tiny bright blue bug flew by. Tiny, the size of a pencil point and ever so bright.
Chickens scratched under pine needles for bugs and worms, so busy. Then back to the seed that’s called “scratch” for a bite of sweet treats. The chipmunk waited under a pile of old wood and stones. Maybe it’s safe now?
The honeybees check the asters for pollen so late in the season. Then a bumblebee doublechecks too. Maybe a tiny grain left behind?
Bird feeders with sunflower and thistle seeds. Suet for the woodpeckers. Nuthatches and chickadees like it too. Squirrels appear, grey and red, to rob feeders or clean up seed droppings.
Chammie, the dog, sniffs the air. What’s left for me? A tomato fallen to the ground? An apple or maybe some exotic droppings from a doe the previous evening?
Maggie, the cat, stalks the chipmunk. Too many hiding places to catch him unaware - woodpile, tunnels under the barn, oak logs where mushrooms grow, the porch railing. She chases a leaf and runs up the old elm. The autumn air stirs her aging body.
Porcupine arrives. Apple drops. Pears. Grapes. Tender raspberry shoots from new plantings. Options abound.
A symphony of activity unfolds.
~Deborah Gideon
