Warm little furry buzzers with the world’s greatest fashion sense. That striking yellow and commanding black palette bringing reverse, respect and caution.
Bees are the most honourable of warriors and the most supportive of husbands, forming vast hexagonal structures of sugar and love to protect their idol.
Flapping and bumping into every wall, person, animal, lamppost and bus in order to reach that lovely floral nectar bringing life and sustenance to the hive.
If I were a bee I would bee carefree. Carebee and flighty and fancy free, landing on begonias and taking pollen and keeping this world turning with my horticultural knowledge of plant life.
Not a stork, but not exactly not a stork, bringing plant children to this world and ensuring ecosystems continue.
The noble bee, the glorious bee, the wise and wonderful bee. The best bee.
Wasps watch on from the shadows, envious of the bees, and pulsating with canivorious fury and hatred.
“Oh we are almost bees, they claim, we buzz and we sting and we flap!”
“Ah”, I say, “ahhh! You do not help flowers though, and you attack and swarm to eat, and you do not wear cool jumpers.”
“Well no”, they say, “no we do not.”
“Exactly,” I say, “Get a new tailor and stop hurting folks and then running away laughing as your spikes drip with their blood, and then maybe we will talk again.”
The wasps are mad, and the bees have no clue what has transpired here Nature in balance.