Birds and Bees

April 30, 2012 By
Our Front Deck. After Rain. The Echium Has Attained Seussical Proportions. 

The Incredible Sweetness of Being, Part Eight

Rain blessed our land and now everything is drying and the creatures are hungry. I’m watching the Echium. Its purple torches call the bees. They’re calling the hummingbirds. The camera calls me so I step onto the deck, inhale the freshness of the rain-bathed air.

I want to capture a hummingbird with my lens. But he zips and dives and the sound of focus sends him zinging away on his Mach 2 wings. Disguised as a blur, he eludes me. 

The Hummingbird, Disguised as a Blur (on the Left). 

I’m not ready to concede this battle of autofocus vs. fast-beating wings. But the struggle drives me to a frenzy. I spot a flash of beak from the corner of my eye, whirl and shoot–and capture the eagle-shaped finial on our flagpole.
The Flagpole Eagle.

This eagle-shot reminds me that it’s hard to focus things that come and go, flitting into and out of my life. And so I turn to the bees, too industrious to bother with my presence, too goal-oriented to stir for a camera’s whirring motor.
Bees Being Bees.

Their diligence holds them in place as I shoot, permits me to study them. By dozens they hum on our deck, mining the blooms of the Echium. I wonder how big a bee’s heart might be, and whether they’re conscious of their effort. My work is lodged in my heart. These little workaholics, I imagine, labor heartlessly.

Somewhere, they’re making honey. But if they’ve chosen an inconvenient spot, someone will call for the beekeeper. They’ll be carried off captive to one of those white boxes I see in the valley and their work will be torn down.

I bite my lip when my work is torn down. 


They return to the flowers, instead. I’m sure of it. I’m thinking that returning to flowers is a good response to catastrophe, especially if you’re a bee. I’m thinking that if your home in the eaves is destroyed, it’s good work to make another one in a white box. 
I hear drilling so I look up. On the power pole, a woodpecker poses for a long shot, way up there. His feathered red hard-hat bobs to the beat as he taps out his code.
Woodpecker, Pecking Wood.

His message isn’t for the bees.  They don’t need to hear from him. They have their orders. 
Me, I’m just watching. And breathing that rain-bathed air. 

15 As for man, his days are like grass;
As a flower of the field, so he flourishes.
16 When the wind has passed over it, it is no more,
And its place acknowledges it no longer.
17 But the lovingkindness of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear Him,
And His righteousness to children’s children,
18 To those who keep His covenant
And remember His precepts to do them.
Psalm 103:15-18 (NASB)

My word for 2012 is “be.” You can find other posts in this series here. 
I’m linking with Laura Boggess at The Wellspring for Playdates with God. Go there, please. 

Filed Under: be, beauty, bees, birds, God's omnipotence, Psalm 103, rest, work