Remember all those bees that went missing this year?
I've found them.
They're all in my yard, getting drunk on wisteria nectar.
And I'm a bit tipsy myself from the perfume of the blossoms, the way they look hanging from the arbor and the oak trees, and the sound the bees make as they buzz and dip and sip and hover, flying from blossom to blossom. They sound like a small and very efficient machine, these bees, and I wish that I, like them, could nestle in the soft purple petals, sipping nectar and coating my body in pollen.
Lucky bees.
I want to eat their honey.
