It’s happened again. It happens every year now. It doesn’t get easier. In fact, it gets more and more frustrating. With each and every departure my heart breaks a little bit more. If you were to take a tour of my coronary infrastructure you’d find everything from cracks as fine as a gossamer thread to breeches as great as the Grand Canyon and craters of a size that put dinosaurs into the ‘extinct’ section of history books.
My sisters have gone. Whole communities have disappeared. Not a sign. No messages or forwarding addresses. I used to love hearing their buzz. See them coming and going…delight in the aromatic magnificence of their industry. I used to get such a thrill out of kicking the butts of those who strayed over to our place, exhausted… unable to find their own front door…..such simple fun!
During this season our bigger brothers and sisters have and continue to experience something similar to our suffering. They call it a pandemic. It’s stimulated a lot of activity, a lot of thought and a good deal of emotion. I wonder how they would feel, behave, if this happened to them year on year…..
It’s so quiet.
The local menace is hovering again. Opportunistic…….creatures! Ready to kill and rob. They are many Too many. I’ve heard of colonies, once evicted, to have left behind a home space large enough to accommodate a human…a human…fancy that!
It’s been such a good summer. Such a fabulous time. So much food, so much colour, so much sun, the place seemed to be thrumming. It was thrumming! And now? Now it’s just us and the girls next door.
My name is Beetrice. And it’s time to tell a different story……