I couldn’t figure it out. “But how do they know where they are?” I couldn’t navigate the whole farm, and my little legs were a thousand times the size of the bees. How did they know to find the flowers on either side of the front steps of my grandparents’ house? And because summer days lent themselves to pondering, I sat in the sun on those cement steps, watermelon seeds by my feet, contemplating the size of the universe.
The soundtrack in my head played, “There’s a hole in the bottom of the sea…” The lyrics crescendoing to – “There’s a flea on the speck on the frog on the bump on the branch on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea…” And wasn’t it the same with the hummingbirds and bees? Here. Right now. From the planet, to the state, to the city, to the country, to the driveway, and the grass, right here beside me on the steps.
I asked my grandfather, how they found the flowers. “They want to find them,” he said. I shook my head yes. “I do too,” I said, flicked a seed from my bare toe, and ran off to capture sight of my own.
“There are always flowers for those who want to see them.” Henri Matisse
