The Hum of Summer

The air in July always tasted like crushed clover and dry heat. I remember the way the sun felt against the back of my neck, a heavy, golden weight that made the skin prickle. There was a vibration in the garden, a low-frequency thrum that you didn’t hear so much as feel in your teeth—the frantic, purposeful business of wings against petals. If you stood perfectly still, you could smell the thick, syrupy scent of nectar warming in the light, a sweetness so intense it felt like it might coat the back of your throat. We are always moving through these tiny, invisible currents of life, brushing past the frantic energy of things that have no concept of our existence. Does the flower know the weight of the guest it carries, or is it simply a vessel for a hunger it cannot name? We are all just seeking our own sweetness, aren’t we?

Laria Saunders has captured this exact, trembling stillness in her photograph titled Nectar Lover. It reminds me that even in the middle of a city, there is a wild, humming rhythm waiting to be felt. Can you hear the sound of the wings when you look at this?