The Gluttonous Bee

April 13, 2012
By Pierrepont SILVER, Staten Island, New York
Pierrepont SILVER, Staten Island, New York
9 articles 7 photos 0 comments

It was late in July, in the rolling hills of Northern England, where there lay an abandoned bees nest. It lay in the dirt, fallen from the tree that once hung it like a lantern against the mesh of leaves and sky. It still vibrated vivaciously with the buzzing of the bees within.
Honey trickled out of the honeycombs and onto the soil, carving a long, thin procession down the slope, weaving between the green blades of grass. It carried along with it the flakes of the last autumn’s leaves and black ants, wriggling to free themselves from the perseverant force that carried them onward.
One bee flew into the hive and landed gently on the sticky surface. He was mainly black, with only one yellow striped across his back. His silver, translucent wings beat gently and place him on his feet. His mouth was shut with the golden nectar of a nearby blossom. This got the other bees into a sort of frenzy, since they had had barely any nectar for weeks, and reserved as much as they could for the growing larvae. During the summertime the only flowers that sprung for miles of the hive were small wildflowers with diminutive amounts of nectar for the bees to consume, so this was quite exiting for them all. He rolled around on his belly, quite content as the rest of the hive fluttered around him, frantic to know where he had found the flowers. He ignored them obstinately, refusing to let them know the whereabouts of the pollen. He fluttered around the hive, as the older bees hovered behind him, following every turn he made. He spun and dove, but nothing could evade his pursuers. Finally he turned to the directional spot in the hive and reluctantly performed the dance for the rest of the hive to show them the coordinates of the blossom in relation to the hive. Before he even finished all the bees swarmed out of the small hole in the hive out into the open pastures.
They flew like a school of fish in the blue ocean, in complete unison. When one darted to the left, the rest would follow almost in a simultaneous action. The sky was their ocean.
They turned this way and that until arriving at the patch of flowers a few miles away, and simply feasted on the delicious, tangy nectar of the purely red roses. Eventually that bee was forgiven, after they were all full with pleasure and their delectable delicacy.

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