Bumblebee

Of course, we can’t understand, yet, how the bumblebee flies. It makes no sense, aerodynamically, anyway. But the bumblebee, that simple creature, hasn’t the brains to know anything about aerodynamics. She flies on in ignorance while you sit there thinking it over. That’s man for you, his crown of thorns. He is aware and alive to the joke, if he would only see the humor in it. He knows that things should make sense, and they almost do; they just never make perfect sense. I sometimes am of the opinion that the joke is on him. He cannot fly, though he wants to. He hasn’t the levity of the bumblebee. She knows what she’s about, sweetness and light, and she gets on with it. Man has forgotten why his maker has put him here, so when he sets about finding out God’s secrets, he does it in the throes of rebellion, his intellect weighed down with cares too great for him when he might have flown from discovery to discovery as free as our little friend now floats about in your garden window.

Ah, and summer, I fear, is coming to an end. I hope our little friends will have enough honey in their storehouse.