Watch the tail . It's winding carefully back and forth through the air as the body shifts quietly. He's transferring his weight as he scans the air above. He moves carefully forward and reaches the bottom of the tree. Sunlight mottles his small frame, plucking out his yellows and filling them until they brim with liquid gold. The blacks shine majestically where the light catches them, a blue hue like gemstone. The tail lays silent on the leafy floor as he rests on his haunches. Then he begins to climb. The trunk branches low so he weaves his way up slowly, almost in a spiral around the central core. He pauses half-way up as he scans again. The intense blue of the sky holds the tree's detail in perfect silhouette, a lace of interlocking capillaries. He continues.
He must be careful now; he can feel the wood flex heavily under his weight. He makes his way out along a stretching arm, he's finally found what he came for. There's no noise, there should be noise. He leans in front of it, reaches out and taps. Nothing. He swipes at it and the bottom front crumbles off, baring an empty core. One, solitary bee flits around the hive, then leaves; there's no home for it here. He swats at it in irritation and slips. He bounces to the ground, admonished by a thousand spanks from the green, early summer branches which, like a stern parent, punish him but ultimately keep him safe.
He leaves his bee costume in the shed and slips into the house, glad be home but fearful of hot baths and the loving touch of antiseptic.
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