The Sound of Honey

I like honey. On biscuits and English muffins and pancakes and in tea. On yogurt and granola and whipped into butter. It is a "secret" ingredient in lavender lemonade, baked apples, and bread pudding.

My Uncle used to keep bees in Tonganoxie, Kansas when I was a little girl, and I loved receiving a jar of it for Christmas or my birthday. I remember seeing the white boxes where the bees constructed their honeycomb off at the edge of his pasture, and how I was never allowed to watch when he went to go retrieve the honey. I think some astute grown up knew that if I saw how it was done, I would inevitably try to do it myself when no one else was watching.


It's the first week of Spring and I find myself in Atlanta. I've heard the Indigo Girls sing of the "Southland in the Springtime," but I never imagined it looked and felt and smelled this lovely. The trees are fluffed with blossoms of white and pale pink and magenta. The evening air brings whiffs of dreamy floral fragrances that seem strangely familiar. The warm air lingers, flirtatiously, even in the shade and when the sun goes down.

People here in the South take lots of walks in the evenings. They stop and chat with neighbors, ask after family members, pet the neighborhood dogs. People don't walk so much as they stroll. More than once, it has taken over an hour to walk to the end of the block and back with my niece and sister.

One night last week while out at twilight, I paused under a beautiful fruit tree (which I've been told is some variety of apple tree), the boughs heavily weighted with delicate white blossoms. As I stood under the umbrella of blooms I closed my eyes and inhaled their heavenly perfume, as delicate as the blossoms and powerfully intoxicating. I think I may have I swooned.

Lost in my moment of Zen with my eyes closed and my palms opened, I paused at the top of my breath...and was overwhelmed with a humming that caused my whole head to vibrate. Was I lightheaded? Having an out of body experience? I opened my eyes and looked up.

In the hushed glow of sunset through petals, hundreds of bees buzzed in and out of the apple blossoms, dipping into the sweet nectar, bumbling back home.

So this is the sound of honey. I paused for a moment and drank it in.