I was out and about the other day and thought I’d check in on the bees. I’ve been following them for a few years now, and you may recall from my first post about them, they looked great (as shown in the old photo above).

 

 

I’ve consulted and read and tried to understand this hive. After first discovering it, I was fascinated and sort of in love with the little workers. When that first winter at the new pad rolled around and the bees started disappearing from their hive, I fretted and worried. After a local bee-keeper told me this was normal for the season, I relaxed and looked forward to spring. Lo and behold – the bees showed up, just as predicted. And I loved them even more.

 

 

But their numbers appeared to be less than before, and to look at them, their hive seemed to be getting smaller. Each time I found myself in their vicinity, I’d look in on them. And each time I did, I saw fewer and fewer bees.

 

 

When I checked the hive a few days ago, my heart sank. It was a struggle to find any bees at all, and the hive looks dark and lifeless, as if no one is home. More than that, it has that same soulless look an abandoned house gets, as if it’s closing in on itself and dying from the inside. Like the life force that has kept it living for so long has simply disappeared. And now the hive is a shadow of its former self. And there’s nothing I can do about it.

 

 

Nature will take care of itself. (Dear lord, I hope that’s true.) I know bees are suffering the world over, and I don’t like it. But rather than obsess over it, I prefer to acknowledge how grateful I am to have found those bees in the first place. I’m so grateful to have admired their little world, and to have marveled at their very existence.

 

 

They will be missed. In more ways than one.

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