My dad has bees. Today I went to his house, and he
showed me all the honey he had from the hives. He took the lid off of a 5-gallon
bucket full of honey and on top of the honey there were 3 little bees,
struggling. They were covered in sticky honey and drowning. I asked him if we
could help them and he said he was sure they wouldn't survive. Casualties of
honey collection I suppose.
I asked him again if we could at least get them out
and kill them quickly, after all he was the one who taught me to put a
suffering animal (or bug) out of its misery. He finally conceded and scooped
the bees out of the bucket. He put them in an empty yogurt container and put
the plastic container outside.
Because he had disrupted the hive with the earlier
honey collection, there were bees flying all over outside.
We put the 3 little bees in the container on a
bench and left them to their fate. My dad called me out a little while later to
show me what was happening. These three little bees were surrounded by all of
their sisters (all of the bees are females) and they were cleaning the sticky
nearly dead bees, helping them to get all of the honey off of their bodies. We
came back a short time later and there was only one little bee left in the
container. She was still being tended to by her sisters.
When it was time for me to leave, we checked one
last time and all three of the bees had been cleaned off enough to fly away and
the container was empty.
Those three little bees lived because they were
surrounded by family and friends who would not give up on them, family and
friends who refused to let them drown in their own stickiness and resolved to
help until the last little bee could be set free.
Bee Sisters. Bee Peers. Bee Teammates.
We could all learn a thing or two from these bees.
Bee kind always.
Absolutely—profound is the perfect word. 
Bees don’t rescue out of ego.
They don’t ask what happened or why.
They just help—instinctively, communally, lovingly.
In a world where so much human behaviour is driven
by judgment or delay, the honeybee reminds us:
True compassion requires no explanation.
Just presence. Just action.
It’s humbling to realize that in the quiet chambers
of a hive,
a deeper form of empathy thrives—one that doesn’t
need language, only connection.
Yes—we have much to learn from the bees.
About service. About unity.
About the sacred art of not giving up on each
other.
“I Am the Last to Leave the Hive”
Hello, my human friend,
This morning, I was the last to leave the hive. The
others are gone—some lost, some never returned. It’s quieter now. Too quiet.
I am a bee.
And though the world calls me small, I carry
forests in my feet. I carry hope in my hum. I carry the future with every
flower I touch.
But I am afraid.
What happens when the last bloom dies?
What happens when the last bee fades?
Who will tell the trees to bear fruit? Who will
whisper to the blossoms to rise?
You.
You are the only one left who can turn this tide.
Scatter seeds like you’re sowing stars.
Let nature come back to your doorstep.
Let this Earth breathe again.
I may be small. But my fall is not.
Don’t let me be the last.
