Morning Divination

This morning one of the sunflowers in the yard had turned its tawny face toward the rising sun.  I saw a bee at the twelve o'clock place on the flower and, as I drew nearer, noticed a fly--black and green with iridescence--at the six o'clock position.   As I tried to puzzle out the meaning of this, the fly flew away and the bee began a clockwise circuit of the flower, toiling away from tiny interior bloom to the next--one for each potential seed spiraled around the sunflower's face.

Is the bee some kind of summer grain genius, or industry?  Is the fly winter or envy's avatar? 

Then a hummingbird visited the gladiolas, and I had to intervene before Smokey could position himself for a pounce.

Now it's the three of bees combing their way along the spiral of miniature flowers.  Smokey has retired to his favorite cushioned yard chair in the shade, and Cicero and Spencer have crept into the yard -- which calls for cat treats all around.