Nature's Place

Potter Wasp – the Nomad’s Neighbour

In the field of bees there are a few wasps that sleep at nights. Called Potters, because they make wonderful nest structures from mud. They usually roost in solitude in the long grass but occasionally can be found in twos or threes, and rarely next to a Nomad.

Like most creatures they are easily intruded upon but I have also found them to be gentle by nature, disinclined to aggression. Content to climb on a warm finger on a cold and wet morning.

They are also beautiful to look at with their wonderful colouring and strangely elegant form.

One of nature’s pleasures, to me. Living art.

Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

A Little Purple

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In all the rain and cloud of late a little colour calls in the forest. It only lives in one place, about three plants in all. I have no idea what it is called but it is a beauty and this day gave itself up nicely, I think.

Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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Sunrise on Dew Laden Nomad and Friends …

… in the Wildness.

Cold nights and humid air with warm sunshine in the morning means something to drink and life goes on, if you’re lucky and survive the day, if luck it be. All the creatures are making the most of the light and warmth at sunrise. I would too if I was sleeping on a leaf, though I think I might hang under it and brave the spiders rather then carry all that cold water on my back.

Well, I was this side of the camera so I don’t have those considerations today. ((:

Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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The Texture and Colour of Life …

… in …

… the sweet peace of the black.

Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

The Dreams of Bees

As the still bright sun goes down behind the clouds over the woods on a cold and windy day, a Blue Banded Bee gets ready for the long dark night through which he cannot fly away. For a while he comes and he goes but eventually to keep, he locks his jaws on the stem and that way goes to sleep.

And on the way he dreams of the things, of bees. While stretching his wings and kicking his legs he turns this way and that to indicate, he sees. The blue of a flower in bloom, a little nectar or pollen, a mate of his kind. Zooming in and out among the grasses and between the trees. God knows he will find.

Dreaming in imagery a thinker could never know, the things a bee is and does. Making his home near enough to his kind, making it on the go.

And all the while, he keeps his big eyes open for danger and, marvelously, knows no foe.

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She, in her clay nest looking over her brood, waiting to wake to the sun once more to do the dreams of bees, given the weather’s mood. To find a blue flower, some pollen and nectar, a mate perhaps, of her kind, a choiceless love that does not intrude.

She knows no time but what she does as the need presents in mind. Yes, bees have minds. Did you think you are the only ones, you and your kind?

And when they are done and dead, no one to mourn, the little ones fed, it happens o’er, never once knowing the ill of human dread.

Rise up little one, to the golden flight, though there be a little fright, Thou art a queen, of light.

Rise up, to know your right.

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Each bee new to the fact of being a bee, each flower a rare discovery, sipping the nectar of the earth can only be heavenly, to a new bee. And all the other things that happen anew in a bee’s busy day, you see.

Chased by a Dragon or Wasp or even a bird or three. Evading death a hundred ways, the wind no less a threat, when hungry, being as small a bee.

They have been cold and wet of late. Holding on for days and nights before they ate. To live and die as is their fate. And all to know a mate, a mate.

That’s their fate, and their faith, it’s never too late.

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And then I look up and what do I see, but the gods of the sub-continent aligned to a V. Sailing or running along on the wind, aflame, a-coloured, gloriously unhinged. What may be.

Was it me? With them or not, I can’t now see. A b… on the wing, I could equally be. ((:

What is this I have seen? The passage overhead, alongside, of fantastic creatures, warriors, a king and a queen. A wonderful procession of the characters of innocent mythical mind a keen.

Then to my rear I see the world, a-burning where there is no flame, consuming yellow arise from the earth, a perfect dissolution that knows no blame – it’s not you or me, no such fame.

This way or that, there was no escape, from these hard won laurels no man could possibly ape. T’was real enough, to me, all form agape.

The end I see, nothing to bemoan, but to set me free. The death of you and me, but no, not Thee.

Or was it just a dream after all, of bees, no more to be seen or fall? A dream, too few do recall.

No, t’was real enough to me, my friend. Know though, this is not the end.

For we meet in the wilderness, of mind, where thought would only offend.

Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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A Field of Bees …

… at sundown.

Dark clouds and blue sky on rainy days. These Nomads are hanging on against the downpour that is our weather this year. Love to see them doing well. The first one was aware of my presence and slowed by the conditions of cold, wet and impending darkness. She moved around a bit and I was lucky to get the flower in the frame. Wonderful little creatures.

I often refer to these Bees as Mystic, Beauties, Magical or otherwise more than they appear. That’s because they are more than they appear, and I search for language to describe what I see. On the fact side of things they are known to be the pollinators of around 70% of the plant kingdom, what a big job for such small and usually unseen creature. Without them we would not be, chances are.

Such a place in the order or web of nature, responsible for the key to the very existence of so much – reproduction, is representative of a special place in the Mystic, the real world behind. These are bees all right, but they are angels too, working for the mighty power that enables the lot – including you, me and the sceptic.

It’s just so obvious to me. But you don’t have to believe it, just get the sense of it. Isn’t the Mystical good? That sense of a place, inside – where else do you sense, where there is nothing but impersonal spiritual power – peace of mind to me.

A sense is all you need to get there, eventually.

Events need to happen.

This one is new to me. It looks like a Leaf Cutter Bee and it was sitting on the dried out grass at sundown but not gripping it in its jaws as they do when settling for the night. So my approach was extra cautious lest she fly away before I got a shot, I got three, lucky me.

She’s a real Queen, of her kind, to me.

Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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There Is No Such Thing As ‘Just’ A Bee …

There is the magical messenger of the spiritual Earth, carrying the music of creation from flower to flower until the symphony is complete and the mind of Man is at peace.

And when will that be? Well, there is only one ‘real’ time. More real.

It comes down to what you give your attention to – first.

No ‘pop’ religion intended. ((:

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A nomad bee from a nearby field at sundown on a cloudy afternoon.

Little beauty, to me.

Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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Genesis

… is now.

And the Lord said “Let there be Light”, and there was light enough to reveal the earth, here and now. And there ‘was’ movement – of form – on the face of the deep – non existence.

As the pre-born bee stirs towards existence, coming slowly into its senses – the same ones as you and me in the morning – it reaches a point that must be called born. Warm and blind in the darkness of its solitary being, sound and smell rapidly expand as it breaks the curtain of its leafy cocoon and light strikes its eye for the first time, as the hammer to a bell.

The light of the sun, father of earth, strikes the centre of intelligence bee is and instinct turns to action and quickly comes to speed for the prevailing conditions of sense.

What, what is this new world to me? Sense, form and function, what else?

And something to do. What beeings do, of course.

Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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The Mythical Bunyip Of Oz …

… of Aboriginal lore, or Koori as I believe they prefer to be called. Said to inhabit swamps, creeks, waterholes – anywhere there is water really. Apparently the native Australians held this entity or creature in awe and dread and could never tell the white man its form or character, though the white man tried to rationalise it no end – no way.

These are just one of its many forms and its character is represented in the colours of Aus, where life is there will be the Bunyip in some form and colour.

The spirit behind, the nature and teacher of man.

Well, now we know for sure one of its forms since I caught it on camera, two in fact, quick shots as it was a precarious position hanging over the railing. I would say it is the water spirit and reaches into the land of Aus the way blood permeates the body and its character is one commanding respect for the Earth but especially water in all its forms and functions as it is the basis for life emergent.

And woe-betide anyone who dares ignore its telling of lore – the fact and truth of life – through experience and negation.

Anyway, I found these two Bunyips beside a bridge in a local rainforest garden. They were just standing in the shadows of a darkening afternoon saying nothing in particular, hearing the colourful birds chattering their day’s events to each other before sleep, tasting the coming rain, feeling the wind on their faces. Clouds rolling in.

It was time to go.

Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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