No buzz, no hum, no golden air,
just silence, thick and deep.
The flowers bow, the wind stands bare,
and even angels weep……..
Yesterday was a still afternoon at Winterpast, the kind where the sun shines brightly and the air feels unusually empty. HHH had decided to check the bees once more before winter, expecting to hear the familiar hum as he approached the hive. We’d planned to spend today insulating the hive for winter but silence met him first. Heavy, hollow silence.
At first, he thought maybe the frosty nights had slowed them. The desert nights freeze now, and even the most determined creatures take their time waking. But lifting the lid, he could see frames littered with the dead. Little golden bodies, soft and motionless, piled as though the hive had simply gone to sleep and never woke up. Some died right where they were working.
Only nature can stir that peculiar mix of sadness and reverence. Examining the hive more closely, there wasn’t scattered comb or broken wax. Just a quiet end. Every cell now sealed spring memories in a bit of honey . It was all that was left.
We formed a strong connection with these little beings. All summer, they’d been our constant companions. We’d watch as they dove headlong into the apricot blossoms, tumbled joyfully among the crab-apple blooms, and drifted through the greenhouse with a hum that blended perfectly with the wind chimes. The bees were tiny, every day beautifully ordinary miracles.
And now, they’re gone.
The greenhouse feels emptier, the lavender lonelier. Even the desert wind seems unsure which way to blow without their song to follow. I keep thinking of all they gave. They stitched together the wild and tended parts of Winterpast. Their life was an example of quiet perfection.
It took HHH and me the rest of the afternoon to harvest what little honey they’d collected. With no sign of stored pollen, their fate was sealed, as is our future as keepers. Next year, our plan is to pray for a swarm to choose us. No more California bees. Just some wild bees that decide Winterpast is the place they want to hang out for more than a season.
And so, today, we miss our little friends as we move towards winter. The desert has its own way of renewing what’s been lost. But today, the garden grieves, and so do we.
More tomorrow.