Buddha In The Backyard

Where are all these giant bumblebees coming from, with their tumbling into my kitchen before I awake to find them staggering or still in stupor?

Two seasons ago there was a dearth of their ilk and an anxiousness about their survival in years to come and here they are two to three times their large size to so big it seems unimaginable that they could take flight.  Each a Spruce Goose of the new millennium; worthy  and weighty of mention in pages from  Howard Hughes creations.

We catch them up off  floors and carpets from laundry room warmth to dining room coolness and cart their dizzy selves out to whoosh them into the greenery of hedges.  We perform these Buddhist rituals of catch and release back into the wilds of the suburban backyard.

A talk is in order with these giant fuzz balls of yellow and black with small wings and spindly legs.  It might go something like this:

“Hi. Nice to see you so robust this year. We thought we might never see you again and the flowers would miss you so much. There’s just this little thing we need to mention and please take no offense but we need to set out some boundaries for the safety of all concerned. Outside the human dwelling of house is the place for bees and insects.  The garden with all its flowers are waiting for your touch which helps them blossom to their fullest.  Inside the dwelling is for human residence.  It is best for coexistence if you confine your meanderings to the exterior places where you have greater freedom and lots to eat for your nourishment.  We thank you for refraining from coming inside the human home.  You are allowed to leave those quarters if you have already entered. Thanks for being and for being out in your element while we are in ours.”

Of course it occurs to me to hold up a can of Raid to show what the alternative could be…perhaps with a codicil of ‘you don’t sting me and you won’t get stung.’

it is a struggle to stay the path of best for all instead of fear of stepping on one in the middle of the night & winding up pain puffed in the E.R. getting slap jabbed with antihistamines.

Still we try to stay the middle path with honor for all.

The pair of Mallards who fly in each day to our backyard pool, which is still in the stage of more lovely, greenish, Monet pond than Summer splashing place, share the blue slate coping around its edges with the two cats who have adopted us up to the allowing us to feed them and provide shelter on our front porch.

These  sets of furred and feathered beings have found their own balance between drooling over a bigger and better meal than merely a medium size dive bombing Blue Jay from a safe distance for all concerned, to the odd crouching, stalking and sidling up for a leap wherein the ducks quack quack up a storm and hop without hesitation into the water to laugh at  the measly cat dreams dastardly dashed before the attack is launched.

Then the two felines have to make do with kibble and kind words from the humans and content themselves with dancing atop the fences between us and our neighbors; happily taunting the Great Dane next door into a deep throated barking frenzy in response to  kitty cat  ‘Nah nah! You can’t catch me’ cattitude.

One good turn of teasing deserving another.

We find everyone wants to get into the act when one of the gardeners tries to catch the ducks until he’s stopped mid ‘oh i just want to take them home with me’ gestures by our ‘no no’ wagging fingers and upraised eyebrows.

And now there are two spotted fat frogs in the pool who are way larger than tadpoles.  They swim and use the uncovered shallow end steps for concrete lily pad like sunning.

Butterfly wings are flitting across the yard and birdsong fills the air. sometimes so raucous as to prod the occasional human lapse of patience descent into ‘oh shut up already! I can’t think here!’

A large white heron alights for a brief, foggy afternoon visit and soars off on wide wings to the clouds, reminding us of the year the Christmas Crane and the Blue Heron stood outside our kitchen window; standing unmoving like 4 year old child size statues on the patio table Christmas and Thanksgiving Day morns.

Doves coo and owls whoo whoo..  Seagulls and pigeons spiral skyward.

We marvel at the myriad  Mother Nature parade in a patch of personal paradise so near the cityscapes so close to our community.

What will arrive next?

Bumble  bees are back and anything is possible.

It’s a jungle out there…and in here too.


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