I marvel at the industry of these pollination warriors and reflect on the work needed to produce the honey we value. Today in my yard it was the crab apple but on another day, it could be the rosemary or borage that provided the pollen and nectar for the scout bee. On her return to the hive, she had passed on the information as to the new nectar source by an intricate dance routine. Since bees cannot talk she had used the language of vibration, the dance routine and number of vibrations telling the other bees the exact distance and direction to the crab apple blossoms. Talk about good vibrations!
To the steady drone of the bees I weed the veggie patch, turn over the compost, check the seedlings and pots and water the garden. I am reminded of a song from my childhood and neighbours might have heard an offkey rendition of When the bees in the blossom trees busily hum and the birds are all singing then springtime has come with assorted Tra La Las.
The wind waltzes into my garden and choreographs some amazing dance routines.
The posture perfect yellow tulips flutter together just like a corps de ballet ready to take off across the stage. I think of Swan Lake. On the trellis, the sweet peas, the show girls of my garden, are dressed for success in their purple and magenta finery and sweet, sweet, perfume. The Manchurian Pear blossoms float on the wind like bridal confetti and land on the lawn and washing.
Somewhere nearby a neighbour’s wind chime provides a musical accompaniment and I think of weddings and celebration.
The birds are chirping, probably telling the rest of the flock to come and help themselves to the mulch they have chosen to remove from my veggie garden. I might have sung, When the daffodils dance in the sun and the rain, then you know that the springtime is coming again. I don’t dance but there is a happy, vibrant spring in my step.
My yard is filled with singing and dancing.
The wind on the river walk sings a different song, an older song that lingers in the tops of the rustling river reds. The birds are more diverse in their songs. They sing of food and territory, mating and belonging. Their spread- wing mating dances are a sight to behold.
I watch for the ripple dance that tells of the presence of a platypus and am elated when I see one.
When a kookaburra laughs my day is made.
A day of song, a day of dance.
Thank you Benalla.
Thank you, Pat, for letting us post this beautifully written story which won the Open section in the 2017 Benalla Festival Writing Competition in which the topic was 'Good Vibrations'.