About a quarter mile down the road, our neighbors have honeybee hives, and the bees flock to my garden for the flowers I grow to draw them in.
The neighbors get tasty honey, and I get pollinated plants.
But this year the bees got a special treat: the plums grew thick and high, so I couldn’t reach them, and many over-ripened right on the branch, splitting open with excess moisture and heat.
This was the most delicious feast for the honeybees, who swarmed the plums and crawled all over them, droning contentedly. I stood very still and listened to them purr, their wingbeats blurring together into the sound of summer.
