Sometimes I cry for mother nature. I try not to, but I can't help myself. A tremendous sadness comes over me; I cry mostly because I feel powerless to make things better. Yesterday when the sun was warm enough, dozens of yellow butterflies were flocking to the bright red blossoms of the pineapple sage. I walked over to revel in their late fall sipping frenzy. I was thankful for the long autumn and grateful I'd planted the sage, not realizing it would provide food for so many this late in the season.
pineapple sage flower here in my Georgia garden
As I watched the butterflies I saw a honey bee, one lone honey bee, moving from each red blossom to another. He was trying to get pollen from the sage flowers. I wasn't sure he could even reach the pollen in such deep and narrow flowers. I glanced around and didn't see any other honey bees. I wondered if there were any more. Where did this one lone honey bee live? Where was his hive. Did this honey bee have an active hive to go home to? How would he make it through the winter if he had no other hive members to help keep him warm?
honey bee on dusty miller flower in my California garden
Then I thought how sad he must feel if he was the only bee left in his hive. I know bees communicate to one another about where to find their pollen plants. If I didn't see any other honey bees here, there might not be any more. He didn't have a fellow hive member to tell the location of the pollen plant. Maybe he was the only honey bee left. I cried a little more at the sadness of his life, the one lone honey bee. I vowed to plant more pollen plants and pray I see more honey bees next year.
