I checked on the bees today. The spring weather has had me itching for the smell of cut green grass and the zinging of bees.
As I popped the cover to my hive I ached with a great yearning for Granddaddy to be by my side. This was his hive and his knowledge. He gave this freely and with no strings attached. I smiled to myself as I imagined his smirk behind the bee veil as he told the story of the rogue bee caught in his suit.
I pulled out the first frame and checked the bees, greeting them as friends after a long absence. They scurried across the comb, protecting their queen and their honey stores.
As I placed the cover back on the hive body and began my treck from the bee yard, I couldn't help but think of inspiration.
(Another inspiration, my son Ethan playing beekeeper in my suit)
Most aspects of writing are earned from hard work--inspiration is a gift. This gift is what makes each writer genuine. No other person will experience life the same. Some inspirations come in the form of places, or experiences, or individuals.
Granddaddy was a source of inspiration in his love of books, his knowledge of the world around him, and kindness in the grip of his embrace.
(My Granddaddy, Walter Tycksen, and me getting ready to check the bees)
He shared much of his life with me. Including the whisper of a legend that is molding into my next novel.
What or who is your inspiration?