The Beauty of Bees and Sacredness of Sleep

I'm trying to be a more consistent blogger. No real reason. Just 'cause. It may mean setting myself some kind of A-Z challenge. I haven't decided what yet. For now I'll just write about the countryside.

It's marching season in Norn Iron and often the parades march right past my flat sending Ziggy into convulsions of fear and rage. Frage. It's not pretty. Last night we opted for an evening of serenity out at the Dreen. As always I checked on the Bonsai trees. They are going through a growth spurt and it's nice to see them developing. The Ash's trunk is tiny yet solid. The Hawthorn's trunk is twisty and unusual.

Then Ziggy, Jess, Holly de Cat and I took a walk along the back lane. Holly likes to follow us on these expeditions but she also likes to pretend that she's stalking us like a sniper. Everytime I look back she stops in her tracks and sniffs a hedge. We approcahed the woods that were planted nearly 20 years ago. They are proper woods now. I remember helping Bert tramp down the long grass around the young saplings to give them a chance to grow. I helped create these woods and that was a nice feeling. There hadn't been rain in over a week and the sheugh's were as dry as a bone.

When we came back mum had noticed that there were hundreds of bumble bees bumbling around a tree with yellow flowers. I can't remember the name of the tree. My nieces could probably tell me. It felt almost magical to stand below that tree and feel the hum of the bees, buzzing happily as they filled their pollen sacs with sweetness. I also secretly wished one of them might sting me so I would know what that felt like. Will I go through my whole life not knowing what a bee sting feels like? Well, if this is all the problems the countryside is going to present me with then I can handle that.

The work bonus arrived and I am buying myself a new mattress because there comes a point in your life when sleep is just about one of the most sacred things there is.