The other day I was watching a bumblebee work its way through the clover in the yard.
It moved from one bloom to the next without much hesitation. It'd land, gather what it needed, and move on. Then do it again.
What surprised me was how close I could get. I kept expecting it to fly off when I stepped closer, but it never seemed concerned about me. It had something to do, and I obviously wasn't part of it.
The longer I watched, the more pollen I could see building up on its legs. Every stop added a little more. Part of me knew what it was doing. It was gathering pollen and nectar. I knew that much. But somewhere along the way, I realized I didn't really know the rest of the story.
At some point it had to decide it was carrying enough and head home. Somehow it knew exactly where that home was. The funny thing is, I never saw it leave. Maybe I lost track of it, or maybe there were more bees in that clover than I realized.
I've lived here for about thirty years, and those bees have probably been working their way through this same clover every summer. They've likely been making their rounds through that clover for years. I just never stopped long enough to notice.
The more I watched, the more it seemed the bee knew exactly what it was doing. I was the one with all the questions.
Eventually I went back to whatever I'd been working on.
The bee kept doing its thing.
At least one of us knew what was going on.