! ! Telling The Bees

It was the year before last that I started to notice it. Bees wandered into the house then didn’t remember the way back Bees. Whose sense of direction used to be great than any Indian scout; as if mankind had lost its most valuable gift -what might that be? Scientists are still working on the reasons. There were more lost bees last year; when they’re half exhausted and quieten down, staying on the window pane for a few second more, I take a jam jar and a piece of paper and take them to the door talking to them as I did when I buried that baby swallow when I was four; indecipherable words that I would use to a cat run over in the road, a child in pain; some sort of sounds of consolation for what’s beyond words anyway that only music could express. It’s ancient: you should talk to bees; tell them of all that affects the house, the family; when there’s a death, you put a piece of black cloth on the hive. In return, they do things for you that are beyond your notice or their explanation. How can I tell them, we’re so sorry for you, we don’t know, when we do we’ll tell you; it’s probably our fault, chemicals and stuff. So far this year, only one huge bumble-bee, I couldn’t catch it; it hid from me. Perhaps they’ve learned whatever it is they had forgotten; perhaps they risked their lives to warn us: you too have forgotten something that could kill your species: you too, have forgotten the way back…