I lost my beekeeper buddy a week ago and wondered how to leave a tribute for her. This is my timid offering, celebrating the continuity of life.
The brood snuggled down against the dark,
Since she sealed hive boxes tight as an Ark;
She barred the drafts, drew entrances tight,
Only a timid guard peeped out at the biting night;
She left them honey on the comb, a golden crown,
But they settled down to sleep, all spellbound,
While the beekeeper has gone to ground.
Christmas decorates the street with flame,
Bronzed beech leaves rattle, still the same;
Behind drawn blinds, children hold their breath,
Outside it is cold as a lingering death.
The hive has chilled, save where the queen is found,
Wrapped in a quilt of bodies, mound on mound.
No hum to stir the ear; all seems unbound,
And the beekeeper has gone to ground.
But wait awhile till frost yields as dew,
When something stirs where none would do;
The first to test its wings and lift into the air,
Lands on Mahonia stamens, sweet and fair.
And all shall be well, is the old mystics prayer,
All manner of thing shall be well.
The beekeeper soars with her brood in the air.
Explanation: Mahonia is the first plant to flower for the bees before the spring. The quotation is from the medieval English mystic, Lady Julian of Norwich. Line drawings from my book The Boy Who Could Bee
