Spring Waning Bee Hiving Moon
Yet more work on Missing this morning. Still at play in the Winter Forest, up in the Dark Range, around the shores of Lake Arcas and on the waters of the Winter Sea. It is so difficult to know what the quality is of your own work. Very difficult. Some say impossible. May well be. This one feels, however, like the best work I’ve done to date. But, hey, that’s just the author speaking. What does he know anyhow?
(photograph by Tom Crane)
This afternoon Mark and I transplanted four gooseberry from their shade sheltered residence along the west facing side of our hour to an east and south facing slope in the third tier of our perennial beds. As we worked digging the holes to receive the shrubs, then digging the gooseberry plants prior to placing them in their new homes, bees buzzed around the deck, drawn, I imagine, by the residue of last year’s honey extraction. Now long over as far as we know, last August, fall rains have pounded the deck. Snow has piled up it over two feet high and that has washed away with spring rains, yet the delicate sensory apparatus of the honeybee knows that something was done here, something relating to honey. Perhaps bees have their own CSI crews.