The Golden-ness of the Light
I see with a poet’s eye toward beauty. The tiniest discoveries delight me. The sleek vole who scurried beneath my pot of portulaca. The grasshopper, pretending to be a peony leaf. The mourning dove feathers I’ve been so tenderly collecting, and now I’ve met the birds, sitting sweetly in my garden.
Yesterday I found the prettiest flowers by the cattails I’d come to photograph (a quickly forgotten mission), and on them, dozens of freezing bumblers. I couldn’t warm them all (the rabbits were waiting for their cilantro), so picked the three nearest me, took them in my hand and blew hot air on them, like those driers in public restrooms. The thrill, when they begin to move! I offer them the goldenrod, but they are warm in my hand, climb further up my arm. When the sun finally descends on the front row of flowers (I set out early to see the sun rise), I set all three in the golden-ness of the light and set off to buy cilantro.
It warms my heart, the way they trust me. I love them so. As I was opening our front door I saw a bumblebee on the step. Curled up dead, his proboscis still extended. The nasty bees (hover-darts) no doubt stung him while feeding. (I’ve watched them do this, the stricken bumbler falling to the ground, spinning in circles, disoriented, delirious. I shoo them all away. I don’t like bullies).
This morning there is frost on my neighbor’s roof. Poor chilly bees who didn’t make it home last night. I cannot save them all, but offer my small protection, as they complete their very important work. Feeding and gathering, soaking up the sun, following the light, before winter’s dark sequestering.
Lori McCray is a nature photographer, poet, musician, gardener and swan enthusiast. She lives in Marlborough with her husband Doug and two house rabbits. https://www.flickr.com/photos/wingthing/