One windy day working in the garden, I noticed what I thought were swirls of dust blowing up our side street, but it was bees, hundreds of homeless bees in a mass 80 foot long, battling the gusty north wind. I have never been stung by a bee and with no desire to find if I had the deadly allergy I retreated to our first floor lounge room to observe in safety.
The weary wanderers, exhausted with the struggle, buzzed into the sanctuary of our sheltered side street courtyard and settled in our wattle tree.
We left them alone and a few days later we drove off for a holiday. They were gone when we returned, but a gift was left – a delicate white sculpture of beeswax on our wattle tree.
by Kevin Patterson 2011
First published in the series “The Nature of things” in a Diamond Creek community newsletter
