My neighbor’s hive

“The keeping of bees is like the direction of sunbeams.”
― Henry David Thoreau

I’ve never been sure who tends them. I suppose that someone does even though I’d like to imagine them coming and going from a hollowed-out tree on the hillside above our home.

Wild honeybees are largely a thing of the past. Not that any bee could ever truly be called a tame thing.

Wherever they call home, they are here again –setting the sweet autumn clematis that stretches some dozen feet down our fence literally abuzz. In spite of the intoxicating smell, this is not a good flower to sniff. The whole colony must be in the tangle, preparing for winter.

These bees are old friends. I see them first when the crocuses bloom in February. There’s always a day or two (or 10 or 12 these strange times) sunny and warm enough to allow the deep of early blooms to call to the deep of the hive.

Small groups of honeybees and so many other buzzing things are here throughout the summer. That beginning of the garden and this end of it are the only times they are here en masse.

They are welcome.

I tend flowers. An unseen neighbor tends bees. Somewhere, a cup of tea will someday be the sweeter for it.