am i awake yet? no.
I could probably sit outside and watch the bees all day. I'm lucky, for Seattle, in that I have a stoop to sit on in the mornings, partly shaded by a climbing rose, with a swoopy wrought iron railing covered in scarlet-flowering beans and a big patch of lavender at its foot. I've let the california poppies run riot in the squash bed - they're not hurting the squash any, as far as I can tell, and both the bees and I love the orange flowers. I like watching all the different kinds of bees that show up - little tawny honeybees and big gold and black bumblebees and the dark fat ground bumbles, all plump and fuzzy and full of noise and purposeful motion. I wonder where they all come from. I know the ground bumbles live in the back, because I stepped on the nest last week and two guard bees flew up to scold me. I hope the next people who live here will leave the nest alone.
I love how the bees throw themselves into the blossoms, burrowing in, then flying off in increasingly erratic arcs, getting more and more wobbly the more pollen they've gathered. By the time they're ready to head back, they're flying like tiny drunks.
On Sunday mornings I can hear the church bells start in about 10. I sit out there, barefoot, coffee in hand, surrounded by flowers and bees and the smell of lavender, and it seems inconceivable that there are people who, on this glorious morning, have wedged themselves into nylons and shiny uncomfortable shoes and are even now voluntarily filing into cool dark rooms, where they'll plant themselves on narrow benches and listen to someone else talk about god for an hour. One morning they should try taking off their shoes and spending some quality time with a patch of lavender.
In more thrilling, less abstractly metaphysical news, my cousin Amy (my least screwed up cousin) has just bought a big house on an acre just outside of Tacoma. She asked my mom if I'd want to put a couple beehives on her lot. WHEE! She is also thinking about getting a goat. HOORAY! HIPPYLAND, HERE I COME!
I love how the bees throw themselves into the blossoms, burrowing in, then flying off in increasingly erratic arcs, getting more and more wobbly the more pollen they've gathered. By the time they're ready to head back, they're flying like tiny drunks.
On Sunday mornings I can hear the church bells start in about 10. I sit out there, barefoot, coffee in hand, surrounded by flowers and bees and the smell of lavender, and it seems inconceivable that there are people who, on this glorious morning, have wedged themselves into nylons and shiny uncomfortable shoes and are even now voluntarily filing into cool dark rooms, where they'll plant themselves on narrow benches and listen to someone else talk about god for an hour. One morning they should try taking off their shoes and spending some quality time with a patch of lavender.
In more thrilling, less abstractly metaphysical news, my cousin Amy (my least screwed up cousin) has just bought a big house on an acre just outside of Tacoma. She asked my mom if I'd want to put a couple beehives on her lot. WHEE! She is also thinking about getting a goat. HOORAY! HIPPYLAND, HERE I COME!