I stood beneath the madrone tree,
alive with the buzzing of bees,
and I wondered what species?
A voracious party of bees leaves
a lake of small white bells at my feet.
European honeybees? Carpenter bees?
Whatever the species, they begin early,
gathering nectar at the crack of dawn.
Small bells like drifts of snow cover the car.
The tree buzzes and drones on,
sounding like it’s about to take off
to join the twin propeller planes
crossing a flawless West Marin sky.
Two drunken bumblebees fall from the tree
and wobble onto me, piggyback.
The little furry fkrs fking on my finger!
I had no worries about being stung.
That was the last thing on their minds.
4/23 PAD
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