A note about bees.

Honey bees show me that magic is still alive and well in the world. The joy of opening a hive, hearing the sound of their tiny wings flapping and communicating, the smell of sweet nectar and bees wax, and the strange pleasant tinge to the sharp pain of a sting. When a bee stings it is suicide. This is another thing that draws me to them. I get stung tending to hives and sometimes I get to watch as the kamikaze bee (that left its stinger in my neck) flys a respectful distance from the hive to die in the act of protecting her sisters. I wondered if suicidal people feel the same way. Like somehow in their limited state of seeing, they think that they are doing it for us, that we will all benefit in the long run. They are as wrong as those poor bees, one or two suicidal stings does nothing to stop me from steeling their honey.