Outside my kitchen window there is a city of bees above the hydrangea bushes. The bees are like bustling helicopters whose rotor blades are very slow and synchronized with one another as if they have practiced this dance many times before. They are big bees and very fat which means they must be very satisfied with my hydrangea bush which makes me feel happy and satisfied with them. Every morning I look forward to reconnecting with my bees and watching their delicate dance from one flower to another always deferring to the bigger bee who got there first. There is no greedy need for nectar or desire to push another bee away but there is this agreed-upon delicate rhythm which is consistent and flowing and so soothing to watch. Recently, I think because of the heat, there are fewer bees on the hydrangeas so I watch more carefully with my elbows leaning on the edge of my sink and my myopic gaze more steady out the window of the morning. I am hopeful for the bees. I am hopeful for their continued survival and their perseverance despite the obstacles that are occurring in their world. Heat is so difficult for them so they move slower which deprives them of the needed nectar and perhaps deludes them into thinking they are going the right way home to their hive and their queen with their hard earned gift.I think the queen has left. I think that they have been abandoned. I think this because I do know abandonment. It’s my most familiar state. At night, when the bees have gone home, I lie in my bed and remember the touch of another human being. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll feel it again before I die. I love watching the bees because they have each other. They are a team. A commune. In a way it’s easier to be a bee because you don’t wonder about anything other than where the nectar is. It’s just that moment, that calm and graceful swoop of a dance from one bud to another, immersed in the safety of the knowledge of duty without the reflection of consequences.
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