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I tell stories
100 words, or sometimes more

Love and Beekeeping

We have a ritual, Saint Valentine and me.

Every year, on February 14th, he goes out to the allotment to check on his bees. Then he’ll drop into mine for a brew.

He brings a pot of last summer’s honey, and we have it spread thick on bread.

“No card this year?” he asks.

“No,” I say. I think of Stephen. Can’t stop myself.

“Good,” he says. “He was a lying sod.”

“Still… kinda miss him… today…”

“Don’t. Today’s about doing what you love. Maybe people. Maybe bees. I always preferred bees.”

The honey smells like flowers, and tastes better.


This one is dedicated to the patron saint of beekeeping. Originally I was going to end with a joke, but I ended up… not.

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