The Writing Rock

1

April showers bring May flowers. At least, that's what my Gram used to tell me. She moved north to Indiana a few years ago, so I don't see much of her anymore. I stayed here in Georgia where the flowers grow all year, but Gram's words are still true. The sweet April rains always bring the most lovely flowers. Gardens wrap all the way around my house, and after the rainy season, my rose bushes always have the most beautiful blooms. 

But, the ting is, they also smell nice. Bees go nus for them in May when they're in full bloom. One year, my gram told me her bushes attracted so much attention, she had two bee hives in the same tree!

Now, I'm always careful to treat my yard with a pesticide mild enough not to poison my growing soil, but strong enough to ward off bees from settling near my house. Apparently, this year the rains were so bad that they rinsed the spray right from the ground! By the first of May, there was already a nest getting cozy in the old birch tree.

Well' I figured I might as well leave them be so long as they didn't bother me none. It worked fine for a little whole, and my other flowers were loving the new little pollinators. 

Then it came time to mow the grass. Let's just say that the bees hated the mower something fierce. I'd get close to the tree and suddenly I'd have four or five new stings and boy they hurt like the dickens! 

I couldn't leave the yard half mowed and I couldn't chop down the tree all by myself. Moving and replanting the roses wasn't something I was prepared to do either. 

I tried knocking the nest down, but I couldn't without the bees swarming on me. They'd come down ten at a time, stingers at the ready, and I'd run away screaming and trying not to get stung. After several tried, a neighbor must've heard me screaming bloody murder and called for help. 

And that officer, is why I had to murder my... self...