Ah, Spring; when a young writer's fancy turns to anything, but sitting down and doing the damn work!
The sun is shining, the weather is mild and flowers are busting out to attract the first bee that looks sideways at them.
Bee-sluts, every one of 'em. And you can see why:
The bush rose, growing tall and gathering in bunches so the bees can look up their stems, and then check out the innocent, butter-yellow petals.
The white camellia, all pretty and virginal, luring in the bad-boy bee with the promise of seductive perfection.
The pink camellia, new, fresh and oh, so feminine in its coy, just opening to the world. Probably as bad as the white camellia.
All in the garden, all wanting carnal relations with the bees. See? Bee-sluts, desperate for a bee to walk all over them, to be covered in... pollen, then go back and brag to their fellow bees.
Yeah, I can imagine it: graffiti scrawled on the side of the hive, 'for a good time, check out the white camellia', or 'free nectar over at the bush rose!' 'the McCartney Rose wants you!'. And down at the bottom, where the 'in' crowd avoid, another sign: 'Coming soon: veggie patch delights'.
And before you know it, the cycle begins. Again.
Yep, Mother Nature is hosting a season-long party, and not a regency prude amongst them.