I start to understand what Caroline must have seen in them. The bees. They operate within such an urgent, simple logic. Unbothered but also determined. Like her. Their world feels pure, unbound from creativity or pride or rebellion. All those vices live within me, so maybe I couldn’t live within a hive after all. But what about grief? Do bees know loss? Humans have a hundred mythologies to dissect death. When a bee dies, I wonder if it anticipates the moment its curled body will be passed down through the sweetly scented darkness, toward the light that waits below.
