ONE TRAPEZE HOVERFLY (OR AM I A WASP I ASK MYSELF?

This trapeze hoverfly I follow for a while. She hangs on one and the same flower, if one calls this a flower. I do. For the moment.
She is a star and I observe how she cleanes her tiny mouth with her tiny hands. I do not call this her legs although they are. I am not a purist language wise.
I walk along the pond and follow the path through the park till I reach the long lane where much traffic is. I have a mission.
At the garden centre there I want to buy Eranthis Cilicica, the yellow flowers I wanted to find in the begiining of this year. Learned then probably here in Blipland that one has to buy them in October, plant the tubers (no they are not bublbs) and have in February some colour next to the white snowdrops in one's garden. I had written this in my agenda and indeed I could buy some packets.
Not a major concern I think and sometimes I am so glad my worries are small and the bigger ones come and disappear again.
I met my brother yesterday at the birthdayparty. I do not see him often and I wanted to ask him about the time my parents were evacuated from Arnhem where the big fight in world War II was at hand. My parents both died many years ago and they did not want to talk so much about it. My brother was six years old at that time, september 1944. My parents had left their home on two bikes, and their two boys together on their little scooter (autoped in dutch). I safely in my mother's belly. How safe was that? On their exodus they were bombed and now my brother tells me not by germans aircrafts.
He is deeply involved in thinking about language and (mis)communication and thinks me perhaps superficial in skipping his dearest concerns about it all.
Tonight we will attend the performance of the play: Trommelen in de nacht by Bertold Brecht. In the sixties last century there was a mass of Brecht performances
and we have many lp's with his plays which I loved to follow, music by Hanss Eisler and Kurt Weill, especially.
It became in The Netherlands at least very quiet around Brecht, so this is a bit of a revival.

My haiku:

Dangling fly in search
Of the autumnal food still
Abundant for now

And the saying of Brecht in one of his songs (not found in the book):

Erst kommt das Fressen dann kommt die Moral.
Translation: First comes a full stomach, then comes ethics.