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David J. Kelly

Attar of Roses

The crab apple’s blossoming. It was probably encouraged by the warm weather. Now, in the late morning, it’s festooned with insects. I’ve seen honeybees, bumblebees, and, most exciting for me, hover-flies. As fast as hummingbirds, they vanish from one spot to appear almost miraculously at another. Then they hang stationary in mid-air, like a stubborn cloud.

hazy sunshine
walkers wearing sunglasses
in their hair

The honeybees’ progress is marked by a gentle dipping of the blossom, almost imperceptible in the light breeze. Bumblebees are much heavier and seem to crash into their targets, tugging at the delicate blossoms, but not dislodging them. It’s reminiscent of the slapstick from silent films. Bumbling bees fly straight into the custard pies without anyone needing to throw them.

faded beauty
wiping blossom debris
from the windscreen

The hover-flies land elegantly, nonchalantly. They sample nectar gracefully, then move quickly on. Some of them aren’t landing at all. They’re dancing around the tree, zipping from one static point to another. Perhaps they’re writing something in the air. Sadly, it’s a language I just don’t understand.

early summer
how different the world looks
now fruit has set

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About the Author

David J Kelly is an ecologist whose hobbies are best summarised as birds and words. His second (haiku and related forms) collection, Small Hadron Divider (Red Moon Press, 2020), was published recently. He lives in Dublin, Ireland.