I met a bee, a little yellow bee, tumbling along a trowel in the yard. It was early and the grass was still wet, and the concrete step was warm and rough.

The bee whirled and circled, twitched my fingers, and was gone in a whirl of golden light. Glad in the soft sunlight,
I pulled weeds and felt the warm earth joyful for its happiness too.

• Carl Sandburg