The Pale Verdict
The bees are still there. That is the first thing that strikes you when you walk into the apiary, the way the air hangs heavy with the scent of heated wax and the low, omnipresent hum that vibrates in the teeth. They have not left, despite the frost that bit into the frame wood last month, despite the fact that I stopped feeding them three weeks ago. They persist. They endure. It is a...
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