Carlsbad Art and Culture

The bee marveled at all the the wide eyes and smiles that eagerly waited to enter the honeycomb. Each bee in line stood swollen with inspiration like a tight balloon moments before its last breath. The bee stood tall and introduced himself. He shared his story through long and winded expressions. He conveyed his visions and introduced his muses. His honeycomb was to produce only the sweetest creations and all bees interested were welcome to enter.

An inspired frenzy rushed through the honeycomb front doors and awed at the potential the honeycomb offered. Its walls were strong and its cells were waxed. A fresh ocean breeze tumbled through the honeycomb cavities and the neighboring streets were full of support. The bees decided on their stations and instantly began working their chosen trade.

The honeycomb walls echoed with the sounds of a busy day. The worker bees produced their creations while singing songs, laughing and offering help when needed. The bees began work early in the morning and worked late into the night as work was less a responsibility as it was a hobby- a passion fueled by the desire to create. The bee was no higher above any worker bee. He worked just as hard, if not harder. He worked just as long, if not longer. The bee put his soul into his work and the worker bees respected him for his dedication.

The bee appreciated all the hard labor the worker bees were investing. He praised them constantly and took care of them in every way. He provided a place for them to live. He cooked meals for them and he guided them on daily morning buzzes through the village. The bee had begun his dream, but with each day, projects grew in size. Knocks on his honeycomb front door began to occur each morning and the bee was not one to turn away an eager creator. With increasing demand for the bee’s sweet creations and a workspace drastically shrinking in size, the bee chose to reluctantly abandoned his honeycomb for a larger and more efficient space.

The bee reminisced of the early days when he worked independently in his honeycomb. He remembered lonely afternoons and quiet evenings. He pictured himself in rags and waxing cells that produced his slightly sweet creations. He packed up his remaining belongings and wiped a single tear from his cheek. He shut the honeycomb’s front door behind him and twisted his old and dull key for the last time. Before stepping off the front porch, he picked his head up and watched the sun rise into a new day. A smile found the bee’s long face and he stepped off the porch and into the street with the excitement of a new adventure.

The bee arrived at his new honeycomb to a creative frenzy. His worker bees could not wait to begin and had already produced some tasty efforts. The bee had to buzz through two lines which led to his honeycomb front door. One of eager bees equipped with their finest tools and another line of exited enthusiasts waiting to taste the honeycomb’s first batch of sweet creations.

The bees worked at a feverish pace. The shelves remained stocked and their cells never ran dry. Crates of the day’s labors left at sunset and returned the following day to be refilled. The village voice excitedly shared their favorite honeycomb creations and a local tongue never went bitter.

The new honeycomb, twice the size of the old, hung solid to a tree branch high above the ground. Not even the strongest wind could sway it. The occasional downpour failed to penetrate its thick waxy walls and the hottest day was no match for its tightly packed cells.

The new honeycomb had become a permanent village fixture. It was strong, productive and desired. Its sweet creations were sought by those near and far. Those lacking the need for the honeycomb’s labors, still kept closely up-to-date on all that occurred within the walls.

The bee still began each day with his morning buzz through the village streets. He still greeted the grasshopper in tall shrubs and waved at the snail. He still winked at the dragonfly and hissed at the black widow. He laughed at the stink bug and squinted at the ant; the bee still greeted all whom he encountered, but now his greetings included the hundreds of like minds that were attracted to his honeycomb village vision.

The End.

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A single bee buzzed through the bare branches of a dead tree. It hovered over the blades of a freshly cut lawn and floated aimlessly along the cool coastal breeze. The early afternoon sun beats down on his back like a mallet on a fresh slab of meat and his wings sent phonic vibrations down the village streets. Today, tomorrow and yesterday are all the same… beautiful and sublime.

The bee greeted a grasshopper in tall shrubs and waved at a snail. He winked at a dragonfly and hissed at a black widow. He laughed at a stink bug and squinted at an ant; the bee greeted all whom he encountered, but he still waited for the day he encounters one of his own.

With wings tired and a mind full of morning observations, the bee returned home. His honeycomb was small and droopy. It stood steadfast in the sun, but boasted nothing more than the atmosphere it was constructed in. Its walls were thin and its cells were dry. Echoes of the bees wings buzzed throughout his home, as his home was empty and only resonated with the desire to be full.

The bee yearned to work, not by himself, but within a collective of like minds and bearers of sweet creations. His production of honey was filling, but his desire to work within the low hum of many buzzes remained empty.

One sunny morning the bee awakened without the urge to buzz in his village scouting for those willing and able to share his home. He no longer wanted seek; he wanted to be sought. His honeycomb, small and in shambles, was to be fixed up. He decided he would wax his cells, build the walls strong and open his doors to all.

After weeks of cleaning and reinforcing the feeble walls, the bee’s newly renovated honeycomb doors swung open. A shiny signed glistened in the morning sun. The grasshopper glanced. The snail nodded. The dragonfly winced. The stink bug smirked and the black widow sank back into her dark and lonely hole. All who he encountered acknowledged the bee’s newly fixed up honeycomb, but the first day bared not one visitor.

Many days passed without any interest, but the bee continued to work. His honey became sweeter by the batch and an occasional call would request a sample. His wings buzzed vigorously with passion. Like the pollen that sticks securely to his legs, his passion remained tightly bound to his heart.

One late Summer day the bee heard a timid knock echo through the metal shell that housed his honeycomb. The bee set aside his tools and buzzed to his home’s front doors. The bee swung open his door and was greeted by not one, not two, not even three, but a long and winding line of buzzing bees. Each one carried a sack of tools and offered a mind swollen with ideas.

to bee continued…

Click Here for Part 2 of 2!