I sit here in the garden, the sky a comforting shade of blue and the clouds few and white. It isn’t often I do this anymore, just sit and enjoy the small sights of the garden. I watched a bee, as I sat on the green bench at the top of the garden. He went about his business of raiding the fuchsia bush, at least I think that is what its called, stoically ignoring me. I named him Beytrum.
Beytrum went diligently from blossom to blossom, climbing easily inside, for Beytrum was no fat bumble but a proud honey or solitary bee. My skill in bee identification is somewhat lacking these days, besides, it’s what is on the inside that counts, not ones bumbly or honey stature. I digress.
What Beytrum did behind closed petals is his affair and I will not pry into such matters. Each time he emerged however his legs held a little more pollen and his mane stood a little taller. Then without hesitation or diversion he was off to the next blossom. I watched as he shooed stray bluebottles from his orchard, bluebottles are silly creatures and know not the business of bees and nor should they presume to. Any bee worth his pollen can handle a few bluebottles if push comes to shove.
So I watched and Beytrum gathered, for half an hour of our time, for me a fleeting moment for him not so much, we simply lived side by side. Me with my curiosity and him with his duty. Curiosity is no trait for any self respecting bee. Until at last there was some unseen, unheard signal and Beytrum took off into the blue. I watched him quickly become a spec in the bright sky. The bluebottles are quickly brave once more, but I will watch this vigil of Beytrums orchard and hope for his return.