Flora, fauna, and food

Why does everything I see in the garden remind me of something else (usually food)?

The bumble bee is my drunken chef:

White sugar stuck to the soft black hairs that escape his kerchief;

Downy yellow fuzz, the untamed cowlick his mother loves;

Black limbs covered in turmeric, the particles sent airborne when he thrust his hands into the jar to dust his honey-lemon tea;

Packed pollen baskets, yellow-orange from stepping in a Cadbury egg;

Crème brulee wings.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Other flora and fauna inspire comparison, too. The yellow peony bud is piped buttercream frosting. The garlic scapes curled up like fresh spinach linguine.

The colors, shapes, textures, and scents invite comparison. They are liberal, heady and rich, like the flavors and smells of Julia Child's kitchen. Dark purple salvia, creamy zinnia, blue bachelor button, golden wallflowers. Sugared white phlox, geraniums stained with red food dye, cotton-candy pink clover, gently sweet. Silky yellow baptisia petals, velvety midnight blue delphinium. My pride and joy, a decadent magenta-pink peony bush, the scent so evocative it puts the famous perfume factory in Grasse to shame.

The insects seem to watch, waiting to see if I will appreciate the wonder of the floral feast presented to me.