The little spring bulbs are blooming, the ones I look forward to all winter. Then they come, and I tend to overlook them, or glance at them, and then they are gone, and I miss them.
THERE’S a metaphor waiting to happen. But it doesn’t need to be a metaphor; the situation itself is potent enough.
Sunday I got smart. Instead of towering over these tiny things looking at them like from an airplane. I got down on the ground amongst them. Scale and context changes things. I got some full value from their efforts. I recommend it.
Notably, though, their efforts are going to waste in other ways. They used to be visited by bees. The honeybees started disappearing several years ago. For awhile they were replaced by greater numbers of bumblebees, American natives that were welcome in their rather unlikely-looking ability to actually fly. Then a couple years ago the bumblebees pretty much disappeared, too. Now all that exquisite architecture that bulbs produce to attract these bees is wholly wasted with regard to its original purpose, and it is very sad. And that IS a potent metaphor.