This little tale was inspired by a post called: “A gypsy wagon transformed into a beehive.”
by Vida Vicky Ficko
Everyone who really knows me will tell you the humble honeybee is my most favorite creature in the whole wide world. The tiny females are the pollen and nectar gatherers of the hive and they work their brief lives to the death, in unquestionable loyalty to her Queen, a life lesson for us all perhaps.
Only a tiny handful get to die back in the hive.
Her job starts in early spring, one morning before sunrise and consists of making several pollen laden return journeys to and from the hive, ending each day just as the last rays disappear from sight.
So she works tirelessly until, one evening, at sunset, on her home-run, she will drop from the sky, her little body almost inaudibly plopping down into a pond, her tiny little heart had finally given out.
Even in death, she will offer up her lifeless body, to a hungry female brook trout, at the point of spawning, sees the shy ripple, who in turn will complete the cycle of life. Pardon my indulgence, That, is how I hope her story ended. Let’s blame it on Brandi Carlile, singing:”The Story” on my radio in the background.
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