Chapter 4: The Buzzers
The scent was there. Cleaning day was upon us. We, the fifty-three of the multitude, fanned out to feel the wind and survey the barren leftovers of the life we had abandoned so long ago. What pitiful emptiness of apocalypse. Frosty air greeted us greyly. Every excursion was met with the awful bleak reality.
But where
the scent? Some food was about, it was
up to us to find it. Too wet yet. The waiting was extended. A few white bells, some yellow flowered
sticks , we would wait.
The scent
was back, something about to break forth perhaps. Our group was the lucky one to see the
purple stars within the cover of ground forest. Only a few now but promise of more
unopened. we took the samples
home, we laid them at her feet. The next passings would bring more.
More and
more popped out near the wall of mighty trees.
They had gathered many of the purple stars at their feet. Great joy was there, our first joy after the
apocalypse. The scent deepened with
each passing.
Next
passing we set upon our work. One of
the housed ones came seemingly to enjoy the view, poor workless creature. We kept apart to guard its presence. We observed that its view included us and our task. Our wings enhanced the place with the joyous
buzz of work. Our workers would gladly
share our music with one of another kind.
We provided the swirling movement, purple stars were standing tall and vibrations of our flight joined the
life-giver's warmth and the softening's breeze. A fine concert we all made of it, the first
of the season. Our program was the
first of the classics, the stories we
would tell at home when darkness approached.
New songs and compositions were in the works, even the housed ones could appreciate them.
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