A calming hum greets me
as I open my front door;
at the start of summer,
when the lavender bush opens its blossoms—
the light scent emanates from
the flowers that stretch
from the middle of the bush—
they reach sideways
toward the sky
softly moving,
not because of the breeze,
but from the bumblebees and
honeybees, which dance
delicately with each flower after flower,
and they are singing—the bees
—their own song,
as they gather pollen from the plant
as if a choreographed dance
to the music of the bee—
the soft song of summer.
—Emma Kathryn Harris
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