Last weekend, while photographing pollinator flowers for a project, I met an amazing bumblebee.
A marvel of engineering, she caught my eye as she crested a flamboyant pink blossom inside a gorgeous explosion of zinnias. Her intricate wings, tear-shaped eyes and omniscient antenna shimmered in the diffuse morning sun. Her very fuzzy, spherical body danced above her flower.
Quietly and smoothly, I lifted my camera to my eye. From experience, I knew I’d make a couple of images and the bee would fly to the next flower. I took those two photos—but she didn’t fly away. Instead, serene and confident, she stayed with her flower.
“You’re beautiful,” I whispered and she turned her head toward me. For a moment, her ebony eyes held my gaze and then she was right back to her zinnia. Committed to her responsibilities, this bee had a job to do. Not one spot on her flower was left unexplored or untapped. Delicately and stealthily, she moved from one pollen-rich spot to the next. I continued photographing her, watching every magical move through my macro lens. Finally, I was the one to move to the next flower, while my focused bee still worked on hers.
This opportunity to make one photo after another of a bee collecting pollen was rare and joyful—one I had never had. In my mind, I had been welcomed in her world and the memory of that special bee will always make me smile.
