Birds and the Bees

Sunday morning was idyllic. We slept until the Sun woke us up, no alarms, no deadlines. The main task of the day was harvesting 37 frames of honeycomb in the afternoon. I started my morning as I always do; feed Claudius the cat, prepare coffee and feed my 7 chickens. The chickens are named Victoria, Sunshine, Butterball, Mothra, Ziggy, Astrid, and Speckles. Recently Speckles and Astrid were adopted from our friends who were moving and needed a good home for them. All 7 are great egg layers and 4-6 eggs a day in summer is typical. We also adopted a new cat named Nero, who is a loner, but a sweetheart who sleeps under our bed at night. Our other cat Claudius was raised from a kitten, and he is an innocent little lover.


There were 3 eggs this morning, and friendly clucks and feathers greeted me. Their food is a mix of golden corn and crumbled grain. I left a few meal worms on the stone bench for the crows and a handful of nuts thrown into the yard for the squirrels. Then I returned inside and made some coffee.


We all sat and enjoyed our coffee in the living room, watching the beautiful day begin. We talked about what we needed for the honey harvest. Then after enjoying the view of our garden, Dennis began collecting the objects, and we had a little snack before starting. Nero and Claudius were snoozing, they were calm and purred contently as we headed downstairs to begin the honey harvest.


Upon coming downstairs, the smell of honey was rich and heavy. We process the honey inside since the smell would attract the bees and the process would become a nightmare. We have 4 hives, and only 3 were ready for harvest this season, but the 37 frames of honeycomb would produce about 90 pounds of honey.


We started by scratching one side of the honeycomb and placed them in pairs inside the centrifuge spinner. Each side took about 4-5 minutes, and after a few sides the centrifuge needed to be emptied from the valve near the bottom. We used a couple of filters and sieves to separate the flakes of comb and the honey.


The honey was a golden color, and the Sun shined through the downstairs window, giving it a jeweled depth. The warm day and the flow of sunshine made the process smooth. We each found our places in the process and soon the early afternoon was a heartbeat made of sweet elixir.


We took a break for some lunch, and I washed the sieves out of the finer particles. Amber is often more perceptive than I, and she noticed the tail of a cat going around the house. It wasn’t a black tail, it wasn’t Nero or Claudius, perhaps a neighborhood cat attracted to the small birds of the bush, or the rats who live under the chicken house.


I investigated, trying to see if I could befriend a new creature. However, it wasn’t a cat, but a young raccoon, a masked bandit who paused to turn around to look at me. I watched and followed them into the backyard. It has been 8 years since a racoon has come by, and last time, the racoon killed one of our chickens. I wanted to make sure the racoon did not linger or find comfort in our yard.


I followed them around the rotten trunk, and under the Tukwila bush. Then I lost sight of the racoon and stood still to listen for any movement. I heard a distant shuffle in the foliage, near the edge of our property. I moved quietly as not to give away my position. I then saw the racoon furious digging in the dirt, and then pull out a squeaking rat. The racoon bit the neck, and with a vicious rip, killed it. Then it scurried off into the bushes away from our property.


I was excited to see an ally in the culling of rats. Like the hawks and owls, I thanked them for their help, and then returned to the honey harvest. For killing rats, I don’t use poison or guns, but I use mechanical traps and if I’m lucky I can get one with a shovel, only if they are old and slow. Young rats are a blur, and fanatical pursuit results in my injury, not theirs.


The golden sunshine continued into the late afternoon, and the setting sun illuminated the fresh honey. The used combs were glistening, the smell filled the house. There was only a little mess this time, and the whole process felt effortless.


While Amber and Dennis bottled the honey, I cleaned the sieves and centrifuge. The wax requires a little work, but soon all the equipment was drying in the last warmth of the day. The last of the bottles were filled and the wax remains were collected into a pan. We found a place outside to leave the wax pieces, since the bees would scour them of any honey remains. In a day or 2 the cleaned wax flakes could be used to create a few candles. These sentimental candles would be given as gifts or lit when the moment needed invocation of the memory of the day.


After we were all cleaned and relaxed into the evening, when the last light of day was behind the shadows of trees and the darkness brought its own comfort, Amber noticed something else. She told me she heard some chicken noise, some urgent clucking. My mind went straight to the racoon from earlier in the day.

I ran outside in my pajamas, seeing a single chicken shadow clucking and running in the pen. I tried to see if there were any other forms, or perhaps one of the chickens was locked out of the chicken house and was trying to get in.


I couldn’t tell which chicken was in the pen, but when I went inside to inspect the scene, I noticed 2 shadowy forms on the ground and heard a high-pitched cluck. Then I saw the racoon scurry from the roof. I ran out of the pen and grabbed a metal rake. I chased the racoon, cursing him as he fled. I took a swing at the ground, nearly hitting him. Then he ducked under a bush, and I lost his trail. I circled, looking and listened in the dark, but I couldn’t see anything.


I returned to the scene after getting a flashlight.


The 2 forms on the ground were Sunshine and Ziggy. My heart sank at the sight of their corpses. Their feathers and feet twisted around, and I couldn’t see their faces. I opened the pen and took inventory of the remaining chickens. No one had any injuries, and there were no other raccoons in the house. Sometimes racoons come in pairs, or mother and young. My spite increased, and I could feel my teeth grinding in the darkness. Amber helped me fortify the house further. We found a space in the roof the young raccoon got through. She got the drill, wood and saw and started on the fortifications. I got the shovel and brought Ziggy and Sunshine to the backyard.


Down at the bottom of the hill there is a tree where all the creatures are buried. I dug a hole in the soft dirt at the base of the tree. I apologized to my dead friends for my failure to protect them, then I tucked them in under a dirt blanket. I spoke softly to them and wished them a final goodnight. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness and my spite grew as death made itself sharply known.


I hissed at the rotten tree trunk nearby. I looked for the reflective eyes of the racoon, then returned to the chicken house. On my way back I heard a shuffle of leaves nearby and thought I saw the racoon tail again. I hissed at the darkness, slammed my shovel on the ground, dragged it over some rocks and ran towards the noise.


I found nothing, and then grew still and listened. I heard a creature moving slowly on the other side of a dense ivy patch. I waited and watched. I was as still as I could be, ready to hit the racoon if I saw his eyes. I have previously accepted the deaths of chickens at the hands of racoons, acknowledging they are just creatures. However, tonight I would have killed the racoon as viciously as he had twisted poor Sunshine and Ziggy. I would have returned murder for murder, since racoons do not kill chickens for food, but for sport.


After some time, I returned to the chicken house and Amber was nearly finished. I took another inventory of the house and the chickens. We finally returned to the comforts of our home with sadness for Ziggy and Sunshine.


While the day was sweet and heavy with mood, our evening brought murder and loss. This is the way of the birds and bees.

The Genie's Funeral

Long ago, before prisoners and nobility lived in separate places. Back when dungeons and jails haunted the lower reaches of castles. Prisoners were left to rot and decay while nobility danced and celebrated above. This was because castles were the most secure place to store prisoners and also keep noble bloodlines safe from spiteful arrows.



In a great castle, deep in the lower intestines of a cold stone foundation there was a prisoner. There were many prisoners in the darkness, but this prisoner was about to be placed in an even larger prison. The prisoners had a myth, a story, that anyone could walk out of prison, if only they could convince everyone they were royalty. The method for knowing if someone was royalty, was how they danced, and anyone could prove their claims of nobility by dancing for the guards.


So many prisoners would cry and wail for the guards, and attempt to show off their dancing moves.


However, this certain prisoner, who was named Juliet, was not a princess, she was not noble, and used the opportunity to try and escape while the prisoners danced. She tried to pick her lock, she tried to weaken the cage, and finally she tried digging. Stone walls are very hard to dig through. After many months of little progress she found something behind a stone block.



In the dark cell, In the cold night and damp stone, she found a small brass lamp in the dirt behind a block. This small lamp emanated a faint light, not from flame or fire, but from some source within. The radiance drew the attention of nearby prisoners in other cells. Whispers radiated in the darkness, and Juliet examined the lamp closely.


Within a few minutes a blue mist began to emerge, glittering in the faint light. A cloud of mist condensed, and formed a figure, a creature wearing a black turban and eyes which were the deep pits of the night sky. They spoke to Juliet in strange words, which only Juliet seemed to understand. The other prisoners watched in disbelief but remained silent as the magic unfolded before them.


The Genie told Juliet he was a creature of profound power and ability and could grant her heart’s deepest desire. She could have any 3 things she could describe, and because she summoned him, he could understand the intent and specific meaning of exactly what she said.


Juliet had been in this cold dark place for nearly a year, which makes everyone desperate and spiteful. Juliet was no exception. She thought for many hours about these wishes. Then she made her first wish. She wished no one else could make wishes except for her. She wished that her 2 remaining wishes were all the wishes which could ever be fulfilled by the Genie.


The Genie cried in horror, recoiling from the wish. The chain of magic which bound the Genie to his service was broken, the lamp cracked and dissolved in a glittering streak of purple and blue. The Genie remained, but his eyes appeared filled with a greater darkness than they once did.


Seeing the possibility that the Genie was telling the truth, and the last 2 remaining wishes were hers to make, she thought of the most spiteful wish she could express. Then after an hour, she wished all things eternal and immortal would no longer remain forever. She wished for the end of end of eternity. She described no specific end to existence, but rather all things would now face their end someday.


The Genie, who considered themselves among those eternal things, began to see his own end. Their eyes sunk further, and the darkness poured out and diminished their radiant form.


Juliet decided not to use her last wish for the moment. She instead kept the Genie nearby, ready to grant her remaining wish. By now the prisoners were in an uproar over the displays of magic and the strange creature with the black turban. The guards came in and saw the creature. They saw Juliet and her spiteful eyes, and the darkness from the eyes of the Genie. They released her, not wanting to be in the path of the genie or Juliet.


Those nearby also seemed to understand a great potential was floating around her. There was a tension of cosmic forces flowing around Juliet, and there was no question she could have anything she wanted at any moment. Authority radiated from her like the soft light of the Genie.


She did not use her wish. She instead carried her wish with her, as a threat, as a promise, as a potential lightning bolt wielded in her hand. The Genie remained by her side, his dark eyes reminding anyone nearby of the forces at her command.


Juliet carried this potential throughout her life. She had a single daughter, and when Juliet died of old age, her daughter inherited the last wish, and the Genie followed her instead. Since Juliet’s daughter was still part of her in essence, the wish was inherited.


Juliet’s daughter continued the tradition of carrying the wish, the threat, and the cosmic forces. They ruled with the authority of potential. Some people pleaded to have her mother’s previous wishes undone, to have magical wishes and immortality exist once again.


The daughter also had a daughter, and the bloodline continued into the modern day, each carrying the wish and the name of Juliet. When technology advanced enough, Juliet was cloned, and each clone was placed upon a throne. Corporations and nations pleaded to have their wish heard. They wished for endless resources, they wished for endless life, and they wished for power for themselves.


Then after Juliet-17, Juliet wanted to be free of her cloning prison. The memories from the previous clones haunted her. She decided to use the last wish. She wished herself removed from existence, she wished every spec, every atom, every shred of DNA to be destroyed with the wish. She wished for the memory of all her ancestors evaporated from the minds of others. She wished to be forgotten and utterly destroyed from existence. To be free from the prison of potential.


After the words were muttered, and the culmination of 17 generations of memory, the Genie fulfilled the last wish. With a wave of his hand, Juliet was erased.


Then the fall began.


The Genie was mortal and could no longer grant wishes, nor could any of the Juliet’s wishes be undone. The world continued and the Land of the Living rolled down the mountain of time. The stars continued their march of creation for billions of years. Then after uncounted years, the stars stopped being born. Then another untold stretch of time before the last star was extinguished.


The Genie watched helplessly against the darkness. His eyes growing over the horizon, seeing the stretches of space in a single glance. Only the turbulence of great monstrous hungers growled in the darkness, looking for any remnants of light to consume.


Then after another unmeasured stretch of time, the great mouths also died, and soon only the Genie and the darkness remained. There was no one to make a wish, no wishes to be made, and nothing left except a single small step into non-existence.


The Genie was still bound by the wishes, so he stepped into the greater darkness as the last distinction of existence vanished.