Beyond all hope she returned and, one by one, the black bear dismantled the honeybee hives. White pine boxes stacked not for fate of death by leathery paw and pink mouth but for the sweetness of giving and taking collecting bottled sunshine, the gentle craft.

Three nights the shadow visited and each morning through tears and anger then determination and despair I set upright white pine boxes. The Queen, with a painted bright green dot just above her egg-swollen abdomen was found clustered and protected on comb flung far from the destroyed hive.

No more to do but let bear finish. Be fattened on sweetness for winter's sleep stings on nose and eyes tongue and cheek.

Can you not look at the wreckage? Do you really think she will not come back while you dream?

Do you think the shadow of your own life will not search for sweetness and destroy it?