I knelt along the grassy edge of my garden at about noon on Sunday. The newly blooming lilies scented the air in front of me. Coreopsis Moon Glow danced in a little breeze off to my left. Bees, large and small, hairy bodied and crunchy looking, twirled with the blooms. The lavender, heated in the sun, wafted calm scents toward me from the right. Bees were in the lavender, too. The mystery lilies, planted sight unseen last fall as unassuming bulbs, are waiting to burst open. Daisy, who lives next door except for when she is sleeping on the sunny rocks in my garden, stopped by to learn why I was kneeling in the yard. When winter comes, and I find endlessly creative language to complain about slush, ice, and the grim, damp cold of Buffalo, remind me of the bees in the summer garden.