“The morning sun drew up the moisture and made the country smell of earth. I passed an ancient elm half in sun, half in shadow. Its knots looked like gargoyles and its bark like dried lava. But the limbs were covered with ivy. The bunched ivy buds, like tiny drumsticks, were some of them smooth, others bristling with flower. It was the hum which drew my attention to the tree. Then I saw the bees, their wings filmy as they flew in through the sunlit leaves. The sun shimmered on the outlines of their tawny bodies as they pulsated, taking the last nectar of the year. There was a sudden flicker of red where an admiral butterfly also partook of the feast. Flies were darting about, but more aimlessly. They seemed to have nothing to do but dance their last sunny hours away in a frenzy. But the bees were hard at work getting provisions of which they are very short after the wet summer.”