While strolling around the garden on a fine spring evening, Rabbit made a list in her head of everything that was blooming and sprouting: winter roses, wood poppies, bleeding hearts, merrybells, wild violets, fairy wings, bluebells, coneflower and daisy leaves, witch hazel, and delicate little fern fiddleheads.
As she meandered through the planting beds and the moss and the meadow, taking mental notes, she also spied tiny holes in the damp earth, each about as big around as a pencil and surrounded by a small mound of sand. And when her tally of these tell-tale bee doors surpassed two dozen — more than twice as many as last week — she grinned and clapped her paws.
Rabbit knew that once all the bees had emerged from their underground nests, they would start organizing their first music-and-gossip salon of the season. And even though no one was ever guaranteed a spot on the guest list, she hoped she would receive an invitation again this year, written as they always were in sparkly gold ink and slipped under the door before daybreak.