F. told me, laughing, that he’s convinced there’s something symbolic in my recent fascination with watching bees drink from cup-shaped flowers. Something sexually symbolic.
As much as I hate to admit he’s right (about anything), there is an erotic overtone to watching the bee get busy. Just look at this one. I was pleased to get the close-up details like his little leg propped on the petal, positioning him just so for his attentions to the flower.
I’m wondering more and more how scientists can call flowers “male,” as in this example. I’m not wondering as much about why we say parents tell their children “about the birds and the bees.” I’ll bet that during the majority of human history, when children still spent time outdoors, this statement alone conveyed some subtle meaning to any child with average observational powers. Any child who spent 10 minutes standing stock still in front of a well-loved cucumber blossom, wide-eyed with awe before the mystery, the beauty and the sensuality of a routine act of pollination, that child would instinctively know a lot in advance of the conversation with Mom or Dad.
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