Farah Ali

Arcane

I feel the vibrations within my blood. Even my teeth thrum to the primal rhythm of the hives. Hypnotized by the cataclysmic drone, by bursts of birdsong, by the midday heat and the scent of wildflowers, I inch past the yellow and black warning sign hammered into the soil. Clad in a white protective suit and veil, the beekeeper moves slowly, an astronaut on the moon. Smoke billows, a wordless incantation, masking alarm pheromones. I realize I am witnessing a mystical ritual, crafted and perfected by the ancients. As calm eddies within the hive, the relentless pitch of the swarm changes. Pulse rate slowing, I exhale, as if I too have come under a spell. The beekeeper lifts a frame, inspecting it before lifting another. A thick fur of bees coats each one. I glimpse honeycomb, precious gold forged in darkness. I like to think the bees, evolving from predatory wasps around one hundred million years ago, anticipated our need for them. Hubris, of course. Humans are a single brush stroke in the great masterpiece of the universe. We would starve without them. Without us they would thrive.

dense fog
a crop sprayer looms
over wheat fields

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About the Author

Farah Ali writes fiction and poetry with a particular love for the short form. She has been published, and has upcoming publications, in a variety of reputable online and print journals. Her supernatural Deerleap Hollow Series is available from Amazon.

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