Today I walk with slow feet and fast mind.
Ears ready to survey the land right out to the limits of their ability.
Eyes darting near and far, scanning for flecks of colour, movement, pattern.
Feet moving one step then another step.
I notice the trees alive with bird song but can’t quite spot the who and where
I want to know them but they tell me ‘not today’.
Step, step, step to where the water has over-flowed from the dam and bogged the lowest part.
I can smell it before I can see it. Rotting vegetation, old soil, life becoming life.
Jumping onto scattered logs so that I might clear the muck, don’t want dirty shoes, slippy shoes, squelching shoes.
Over and up, up to the new gate and around the corner.
There, over there, look! What blueness, what wonderful meadow flowers!
I rush in forgetting all about the slow and measured movements meant for today.
But no sooner does the rushing start that it stops. I stop.
Flowers curled up as if pregnant with new life,
A leg, a black hairy little leg hanging out?
I peel back the flower gently, carefully and there inside lie three little native bees.
A party of pollinators getting some sleep before the work begins.
Silky, silvery, black and shiny.
Cuddled up together, friendly, warm and cozy.
I feel clumsy for waking them from their slumber and try to re-curl the petals.
But the petals won’t re-curl.
I promise to repay them by protecting their nectar, encouraging more.
Dozily they allow me a picture,
a photographic celebration of their beauty.
Sweet Little Native Bees.
Today you are my teachers.