M E L I T A
As she continued to observe the swarm and converse with the stranger, the sun settled down, coasted to the ends of the earth in its bright, illuminating colors: hues of gold, of orange, of blue and indigo, bringing a smile to her face again. At the very least, they’d have the day on their side.
She wasn’t an expert by any means on the matter of bees, but she enjoyed their efforts, their methods, and their means. She appreciated them in her childhood, impersonating them as best she could with laughter and ridiculousness, and now, she enjoyed their presence, was reminded of better hours and minutes beneath her mother’s watchful eye, beside her sister as they murmured and debated about which was best: the bees or the butterflies.
But he wouldn’t care about that; her gilded gaze floated back up to him, back and forth between the swarm, admitting her lack of experience in some regards to the wondrous creatures. “I’ve never moved any, though we may have more luck as the sun sets. They tend to get drowsy.” Perhaps they’d be less irritable to with the task they were willing to undertake: somehow relocating a bunch of chorus bees back into a more hospitable environment in the woods. How did one convince a queen to take her court and vacate a scene?
She wanted to do it efficiently and effectively though, where no one, insects, humans, or gourds, was harmed in the monumental task. Her head tilted back and forth, and she glided beneath the buzzing swarm, memorizing their hum and continuing to perform it under her breath, studying and perusing, pondering and wondering. “Could we smoke them out? Force them back into the forest?”
