Fragrant Quote for September 28th, 2012-As the Bee Flies by Elisabeth Woodbridge


 Goldenrod Image credit


As the Bee Flies by Elisabeth Woodbridge
I settled down comfortably under the yellow-top, and instantly I realized what a pleasant thing it is to be a landmark. For one thing, when you sit down in a field you get a very different point of view from that when you stand. Goldenrod is different looked at from beneath, with sky beyond it; sky is different seen through waving masses of yellow. Moreover, when you sit still outdoors, the life of things comes to you; when you are moving yourself, it evades you. Down among the weeds where I sat the sun was hot, but the breeze was cool, and it brought to me, now the scent of wild grapes from an old stone wall, now the spicy fragrance of little yellow apples on a gnarled old tree in the fence corner, now the sharp tang of the goldenrod itself. The air was full of the hum of bees, and soon I began to distinguish their different tones—the deep, rich drone of the bumblebees, the higher singsong of the honey-bees, the snarl of the yellow-jacket, the jerky, nasal twang of the black and white hornet. They began to come close around me; two bumblebees hung on a frond of goldenrod so close to my face that I could see the pollen dust on their fur. Crickets and grasshoppers chirped and trilled beside me. All the little creatures seemed to have accepted me—all but one black and white hornet, who left his proper pursuits, whatever they may have been, to investigate me. He buzzed all around me in an insistent, ill-bred way that was annoying, examined my neck and hair with unnecessary thoroughness, flew away, returned to begin all over again, flew away and returned once more, but at last even he gave up the matter and went off about his business.