Devorah, Bee | Teen Ink

Devorah, Bee

September 1, 2017
By G-writer GOLD, Grantville, Pennsylvania
G-writer GOLD, Grantville, Pennsylvania
12 articles 0 photos 2 comments

I have never understood those who fear bees. 

The land God promised was that of milk and honey. I like to think that bees are servants of this land, that just as life was breathed into me, so it was with the bees.

Every beat of their wings, every spring flight, has been ordained.
They are the artists of the flora; their medium is pollen, their masterpieces the blooms of spring and summer. Feeding the flowers and fed by the flowers.
Honey is the sweet preserve kept through winter.

They operate with purpose.
Servitude is an honor and the fruit of labor is gifted, not hoarded.

On any given day the wind may wound their wings leaving them to death. How poetic to fall through your art, through the blossoms, to die looking up through the pollen kissed petals, your last glimpse that of sun and sky.To inflict harm is to sacrifice their life. A life span is merely days and bees live as such.   

The flitting of united wings warm the hive, and the family tree of honey bees is ever growing.
A geographical map internalized leading them forever back to the hive which birthed them.
Yet, bee society is as cruel as it is kind.
They banish certain members from the kingdom, killing those who have outlived their purpose,
choosing a queen to rule them all.
Even the most affluent species face the threat of extinction.

Pity so often motivates humanity to care, and thus to many, bees have become care. They pin on a benevolent sash and wave to the fans.
Fear is the enemy of love and phobias restrict others,
and some have an inclination which draws them to bees.

I love bees.
They possess an innate sense of family, belonging, and purpose.
They do not kill without consequence, they do not live outside servitude, and they cultivate the existence of beauty.

I stand at the edge of my yard, the damp grass chilling my bare feet. The rain clouds are rolling rich across an ever darkening sky.
Yet still the bee’s work, my hive.
For I am their keeper and they are mine.
The gentle buzz of their presence soothes something very deep within.
For what am I but a mere bee to God my keeper.


The author's comments:

For graduation my parents gifted me with a bee hive. I have also admired those who keep bees and I now know the work and joy of keeping.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.