Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don’t they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.
— Ray Bradbury, Introduction to Dandelion Wine (1957)
Setting down my carving knife, I marveled at the bumblebee intently exploring a rose of Sharon. Then, breaking from his busyness, he draped himself over the stamen and rested (top photo).
Knowing next to nothing about bees, I was free to take anthropomorphic delight in the idea that he was overwhelmed by the abundance of summer, or maybe had paused in gratitude. It’s nice to feel a connection with a bee.
I did not try to smell the bee; I like Ray Bradbury’s notion, untested.