Knees

Knees, of bees

are famous.

Unlike their wax, which is none of your.

I cannot see their knees 

These bees 

But they are busy, at the rising of the Sun 

There’s a layer of green flat leaves and stems on the roof just in front of our patio. And a large family of bees makes it their home.

The thick vegetation is dotted with delicate white flowers, interspersed, light purples and dark indigos. 

At first glance, it is a quiet, uninterrupted, and undisturbed haven.

However, as the sun creeps slowly over the horizon, the space is filled by this regiment of hard-working pollinators.

Two things stand out about these bees 

One, color 

Inspired by rugby players, they are all blacks. A deep, lustrous armor reflecting the rising sun.  They shine in the morning night.

Two, their size

These bees are larger than my thumb

And, initially, I am taken aback.

But they have little concern for me, just centimeters away, observing them hard at work.

Between the dozen of them, they make a low resident buzz that welcomes our day.

A younger me might’ve been wary, misunderstanding, but I am not the center of their universe

In reality, neither these bees nor their knees want anything to do with me.

They go about their business, sharing the love, sticking their noses right where they belong 

Quietly ensuring the health of the ecosystem.

Is there joy in their work? 

I’m not quite sure, really.

But as I anthropomorphize these hard-working critters

I like to imagine so.

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