Carlsbad Art and Culture

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…

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