Yellow flowers in a ring protected by olive trees no one knows their name I have to ask a botanist for their Latin name. The dale side here has many stone walls, tiny if seen from the moon overgrown now those small plots of land yielding nothing but poverty and deep seated resentment. The flowers are not lilies, I can see that, it will soon be Easter and the little church will be full of women, while most men will hang about outside, near the bar, white and yellow butterfly flies unsteadily around in the wind and, and bumblebees drink from deep red poppies. A swarm of killer bees fly by, I do not speak or move till they are gone. My brother in law Nen' who lives in Kinshasa, Congo, tells me that the bees there live, exclusively, on orchid dew and they are big as sparrows and can sting an elephant till it dreams of yesterday, maybe it isn't true but I would not like to be stung by them. Now that the ice on the poles melts will we see a fauna of rare flowers? If so there must be bees there too and the friendly bumblebee,
