Archive for the ‘The Bee’ Tag

Capturing The Moment — The Bees Have It To The Pleasure Of The Flower   7 comments

SCVN Nature Walk July 2013No competition here!

SCVN Nature Walk July 2013What are all you guys doing here? — Images by kenne

And now you ask in your heart, 
“How shall we distinguish that which is good in pleasure from that which is not good?” 
Go to your fields and your gardens, and you shall learn that it is the pleasure of the bee to gather honey of the flower, 
But it is also the pleasure of the flower to yield its honey to the bee. 
For to the bee a flower is a fountain of life, 
And to the flower a bee is a messenger of love, 
And to both, bee and flower, the giving and the receiving of pleasure is a need and an ecstasy. 

People of Orphalese, be in your pleasures like the flowers and the bees. 

Extract from Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet

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Capturing The Moment — “. . . Brings More Beauty Than Words Can Tell.”   6 comments

Sunset Trail HikeImage by kenne

“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!”

Nature, Poem 15: The Bee by Emily Dickinson

******

“The world is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first,
nature is incomprehensible at first,
Be not discouraged, keep on,
there are divine things well envelop’d,
I swear to you there are divine beings
more beauty than words can tell.”

— from Song of Myself  by Walt Whitman,

Bee On A Blue Dicks Wildflower   Leave a comment

Miller Creek TrailBee On A Blue Dicks Wildflower — Image by kenne

The Bee

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

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