The apple tree becomes your nest, and the sprawling cottage garden becomes your territory. It's a pretty place, alive with bugs (tasty when you can get them, even the buzzy yellow ones that sting) and rich with fruits and vegetables.
One of the creatures — the humans, not that you know the word yet — lives in the cottage. He's small, and quiet. You like to watch him work with his flowers and crops, and with the wooden houses he's built for the bees. Does he know he's being watched? That you're here? You can't tell. You can't bring yourself to care too much either way.
It's a hot afternoon, the sun high and shining bright, and he's tending to his bees. You watch, fascinated … and once he's gone (out the garden gate, down the road), you sneak down from your nest to investigate the hive firsthand. You've got time; he won't be back for hours now, not until the sun's set.
You gather enough strength to puff smoke into the hive — you've watched him do it a few times now, with a machine he keeps locked in his shed — and make short work of the latches, easing out one of the heavy, honey-laden wooden frames.
Snack time!
But for all the strength you've regained, you're still so tired. Exhaustion is never far away. You eat your fill of honey, relishing the sticky sweetness … until you nod off right there at the scene of the crime.
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4
One of the creatures — the humans, not that you know the word yet — lives in the cottage. He's small, and quiet. You like to watch him work with his flowers and crops, and with the wooden houses he's built for the bees. Does he know he's being watched? That you're here? You can't tell. You can't bring yourself to care too much either way.
It's a hot afternoon, the sun high and shining bright, and he's tending to his bees. You watch, fascinated … and once he's gone (out the garden gate, down the road), you sneak down from your nest to investigate the hive firsthand. You've got time; he won't be back for hours now, not until the sun's set.
You gather enough strength to puff smoke into the hive — you've watched him do it a few times now, with a machine he keeps locked in his shed — and make short work of the latches, easing out one of the heavy, honey-laden wooden frames.
Snack time!
But for all the strength you've regained, you're still so tired. Exhaustion is never far away. You eat your fill of honey, relishing the sticky sweetness … until you nod off right there at the scene of the crime.
The memory ends with the creaking of a gate.