The Murmur of Bees

by Sofía Segovia

women can never be fully understood. Their minds are a labyrinth that men are only permitted to glimpse from the outside when they want us to, when they invite us. Until then, the labyrinth remains a mystery.

She knew she could not help her husband with his work, which lately had kept him increasingly occupied. But she thought the least she could do for him was to wait for him and be there to receive him at night, to join him for dinner, to sleep with him very close so she could share her warmth with him and make him forget his doubts and worries, which were more than he admitted.

And it was from talking so much that I didn’t notice that Simonopio wasn’t contributing so much as a yes or a no to the conversation. That it was a monologue and not a dialogue.

houses die when they’re not fed with their owners’ energy.

Tell them to walk in the shade. To listen with their eyes, to see with their skin, and to feel with their ears, because life speaks to us all and we just need to know and wait to listen to it, see it, feel it.”