All day they mumble in a clump outside the hive. I water the days of an unexpected life. I fill my time. I’m very good at that. The bees are hot. The wild, indifferent creatures of our climate we do our best to kill. They fan furious air: maintaining a steady in-hive temperature is hard work. We all keep busy, I suppose. Mine is a cluttered life. Past the choked-out flower border, the strange of parched plants in pots, the...
