Young mister Wilbur Wren rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched to greet the morning. It would seem to be spring at long last, a deep sense within him told him. He'd not yet lived a spring, but the buzz of the bees hummed life through the air and gave new pace to the slow-met sunrise. Yes, it must be spring, all instinct told him. But not only that. A worker bee, vending bouquets of wattle passed by the nest. Yes, perfect, I'll take them all, sir! Now, where is the fair Angela Fairy?