Mister had himself a mosey to check on the bees and reported back to me. It wasn’t good. We then moseyed together and I saw for myself.
Mister pointed out that what’s left of the hive appears like a haunted house. The occasional lost bee circles around, a ghost who once lived there. I’ve no idea how long the ghost bees will search. At some point, I suppose they’ll fall to the ground, like the old rotted hive. After a while, there will be no sign that they ever existed in that spot. No living trace. No dead trace either, for that matter.
It’s the Circle of Life, friends. And it’s as natural as breathing, no matter the cause. The bees will find themselves a new home, a new place to thrive. And that will last as long as it’s meant. I know nothing of a hive’s life cycle. I only know I mourn for this one.
