08 Oct Taletober 8: Morning Ritual
Inspired by @ludmilacerafoce
Lying awake in bed she watched the window fill with light as the sun rose. She stayed there until she heard her mother in the kitchen, the restrained clatter of pans as she cooked quietly so the rest of the house could sleep.
She rose and dressed, then tiptoed through the hall and down the old wooden stairs, playing her usual game of stepping only where the boards would not creak. She passed through the kitchen and kissed her mother on the cheek. Her mother whispered after her as she slipped on her shoes and out the door, reminding her that breakfast would be ready soon and she shouldn’t be gone too long.
Crossing the fields, she could see the row of white boxes, still wrapped in the shadow of the wind break tree line. The line of the new day’s sun travelled with her and as she walked she watched the light crawl across the vegetation, turning the night’s dew into glittering jewels that would be lost in minutes.
Her pace quickened, she wanted to arrive at the hive before it began to warm, informing the bees that their workday had begun. Even before the light reached them, the air had warmed the bee boxes enough that she could hear their low hum, hinting at the activity inside, as she came near. She crouched by her favorite box, the one she and her father had embellished with painted flowers, and watched as the first bees emerged to face the day.
The blackberry bushes along the edge of the meadow were in full bloom, calling to the bees. White with a pale pink tinge, the blossoms reminded her of the stains the berries left on white linens, even after they had been washed. Her eyes tracked the workers along their drunken paths to the flowers and soon the air was full of bees, their erratic flights giving the daily ritual a festive feel.
Back across the fields she could hear her mother calling to her, so she left the bees to their dance and turned back to the house, carving her own winding path through the sunlight that filled the early morning air.