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Blue Honey

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I remember when we sat on your tire swing and watched as the fluffy white clouds swam across the sky.

Don’t they look like cotton balls? you said.

Your left hand held on tight to the rope of the swing, and in your right hand you held a melty blue popsicle. It dripped down your fingers and onto the grass below us, where the ants then began to gather and drink from the scattered droplets.

Pretty soon the bees joined them, buzzing around the sugary blue mess as if it were honey.

You did not care about your sticky fingers or about how close we were to the bees, and you soon grew tired of your popsicle anyway and threw it on the ground, donating it to the hungry insects around us.

You were more concerned with finding animals and shapes configured in the clouds and pointing a unique one out whenever you would find it.

See that one there?you pointed. It looks like a rabbit.

You went silent for a few moments until you found another cloud formation and said, That one looks like a fairyand then This one looks like a bird.

The drone of the honeybees grew louder as the hot summer sun melted away the remnants of the popsicle. Soon enough a swarm gathered, and you were worried that you would get stung, so you grabbed my hand and hopped off the swing, running for your back door.

I took one more glance at the sticky blue puddle in the grass where a bee was floating along the surface, sipping the artificial nectar. I smiled, and when I looked back up and you were still pulling me, and I hadn’t even realized that we were nearly all the way to your porch. The cool breeze blew around us.

I couldn't help but think that not even the bees knew sweetness like this.

First appeared in The Anonymous Quarterly
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