*Warning! The following material is B-rated and may not be suitable for larva and young pupa.*
Today I went out to get some water to bring back to the hive. It was a warm, sunny morning with bright blue skies and not a trace of a cloud. On my way to the creek, I passed a large cat napping in the lush, green grass under the shade of a maple tree. She looked so content, I could almost feel her purring as I flew by.
The creek trickled through a slight depression in the woods. A small rock along the far bank made for a nice landing spot, so I stopped and collected a few drops of water to carry home. Many bees from other hives in our community were also gathering water. We exchanged some local gossip.
"Has anyone heard about the swarm that was in the old oak tree?" I asked.
An older bee on the other side of the rock answered me, "They all broke up a couple of weeks ago. Couldn't find a decent place to escape the weather. Some of the refugees came to our hive. Said the old queen gave out and everyone split."
"Ah, that's too bad." Our old friends didn't make it then. Not surprising really, though. These days, it's hard to survive even under the best of conditions. What with the viruses, bacteria, ant raiders, wax worms, honey thieves, and mites... Lord help us, the mites! If you get 'em, you're through. They'll eat you alive, from the inside out and the outside in. Pretty soon you can't fly, then you can't walk. Others will slowly suffocate you, you can't breathe. Life is hard enough without all of these pests.
I quenched my thirst and went into the field, searching for the perfect flower. There were lots of possibilities to choose from, and I could have any one, within limits. Some were old and raggedy, unappealing, while others were still too young to open up and allow me to taste the sweet nectar within. But many, in fact most, were within the right age range for me to visit. I just had to pick the one.
I was looking for a special flower, a beautiful flower, one that I couldn't possibly take my eyes off of. Many flowers were dull and unattractive, I hardly glanced at these. My search was for the brightest, most vivid beauty I could find.
My eyes detected her beauty, but it was her sweet scent that drew me in. When I got close, her smell was so thick in the air, it nearly blinded me. I landed on her soft petal and gently traipsed around her face, kissing her with my feet, exploring for her wet cavity, that warm hole that promised to be filled with a rich juice which satisfied even the gods.
With bold strokes, I darted my long tongue in and out between the walls surrounding my fairest's richness. I groaned with agony and excitement as I reached for that hidden nectar pot. Tensely, I yearned for her priceless treasure, and, when it seemed I could reach no further, the flavor of her sweet nectar exploded on my outstretched tongue and engulfed my senses completely.
Exhausted and fulfilled, I left that fair maiden and slowly journeyed home, practically in a daze. When I arrived, I told my story to others, and I rested, but only briefly. For there were other flowers in that field, each begging for my company. Soon, I would visit another, and then another, as many as I could until one day, late in life, my wings would give out and I would fly no more.
Today I went out to get some water to bring back to the hive. It was a warm, sunny morning with bright blue skies and not a trace of a cloud. On my way to the creek, I passed a large cat napping in the lush, green grass under the shade of a maple tree. She looked so content, I could almost feel her purring as I flew by.
The creek trickled through a slight depression in the woods. A small rock along the far bank made for a nice landing spot, so I stopped and collected a few drops of water to carry home. Many bees from other hives in our community were also gathering water. We exchanged some local gossip.
"Has anyone heard about the swarm that was in the old oak tree?" I asked.
An older bee on the other side of the rock answered me, "They all broke up a couple of weeks ago. Couldn't find a decent place to escape the weather. Some of the refugees came to our hive. Said the old queen gave out and everyone split."
"Ah, that's too bad." Our old friends didn't make it then. Not surprising really, though. These days, it's hard to survive even under the best of conditions. What with the viruses, bacteria, ant raiders, wax worms, honey thieves, and mites... Lord help us, the mites! If you get 'em, you're through. They'll eat you alive, from the inside out and the outside in. Pretty soon you can't fly, then you can't walk. Others will slowly suffocate you, you can't breathe. Life is hard enough without all of these pests.
I quenched my thirst and went into the field, searching for the perfect flower. There were lots of possibilities to choose from, and I could have any one, within limits. Some were old and raggedy, unappealing, while others were still too young to open up and allow me to taste the sweet nectar within. But many, in fact most, were within the right age range for me to visit. I just had to pick the one.
I was looking for a special flower, a beautiful flower, one that I couldn't possibly take my eyes off of. Many flowers were dull and unattractive, I hardly glanced at these. My search was for the brightest, most vivid beauty I could find.
My eyes detected her beauty, but it was her sweet scent that drew me in. When I got close, her smell was so thick in the air, it nearly blinded me. I landed on her soft petal and gently traipsed around her face, kissing her with my feet, exploring for her wet cavity, that warm hole that promised to be filled with a rich juice which satisfied even the gods.
With bold strokes, I darted my long tongue in and out between the walls surrounding my fairest's richness. I groaned with agony and excitement as I reached for that hidden nectar pot. Tensely, I yearned for her priceless treasure, and, when it seemed I could reach no further, the flavor of her sweet nectar exploded on my outstretched tongue and engulfed my senses completely.
Exhausted and fulfilled, I left that fair maiden and slowly journeyed home, practically in a daze. When I arrived, I told my story to others, and I rested, but only briefly. For there were other flowers in that field, each begging for my company. Soon, I would visit another, and then another, as many as I could until one day, late in life, my wings would give out and I would fly no more.
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