I captured a bee tonight in Cornwall riding a glorious thistle through the summer breeze. I don’t often see that national flower of Scotland around here where I now live. Yet it still reminds me of where I was born.
I feel a strange soft spot for this flower, not because it’s from whence I came, but because it looks like it’s donning the most magnificent mohican hairdo. So powerful and playfully purple. Like it won’t take any nonsense from anyone. Like it knows exactly what it needs. Like it knows it’s a strong and truly extraordinary flower. Wherever it ends up.
So many spikes. So difficult to get close to. But with a head turning flamboyance that draws the bees for miles.
A little bee that isn’t scared of anything. Not even those tiny jarring prickles within that purple mohican thistle. That bee with its heart set on one thing can simply dance its way to the centre of all that is precious…
Another perfect moment of another perfect match chalked up by our brave hearted nature ?