The bees are busy dutifully collecting pollen from the new blooms.
I used to be afraid of bees, since when I was a young girl, I was stung, and the fear had stayed with me into adulthood.
Years later I have realized their importance in the growing cycle and welcome their return to the garden, albeit with a heedful smile.
Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry
Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms.
His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.
His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!
~ Emily Dickinson : The Bee (1830)