It fell to me to tell the bees,
though I had wanted another duty—
though I had wanted another duty—
Telling the Bees by Deborah Digges
In our small village, where sun shone on ancient walls and children walked home in their shadows unpeturbed, the bees were told. It was as routine as hanging washing on the line or picking wild blackberries for winter cordial. A baby in the house, betrothals and foremost the telling of death. A hive will fail if it is not allowed to mourn.
So knock gently on the hive, speak low and hum a doeful tune.
A thousand personal tragedies will have happened in the same instant as a gunman raged in Orlando. Yet birds still sing, flowers grow, streams flow, winds blow, tides ebb and flow.
Tell the bees, speak truth and beauty, stand fast but do not stand still.
Read the whole poem here
Beautiful. And so are those roses!!!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful roses. Try photographing them before the sun is on them. The sun bleaches out all the color and detail.
ReplyDeleteJune a wonderful month for the roses, and I love that poem.
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful post. I needed to read that this morning. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteThank you for the beautiful poem. And for the roses.
ReplyDeleteI did enjoy this post and reading the poem. I've always been fascinated by the folklore of telling the bees your family's news. The roses are beautiful.
ReplyDeleteIt's never occurred to me to tell a bee anything. That idea is new. But I love the poem and the idea that we all mourn tragedies, even if they don't happen to us. We mourn that we live in a world were they can and do happen. Beautiful post.
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