“How’d you do it, Ruf? How’d you pull it off? You seem to have gotten yourself loved and free and happy.”
“I keep telling you, Ellie, it’s The Land. If you give yourself to it, it makes you free. I grow my own food, make a little honey wine, celebrate the holidays of my choosing, sing, pick a little on the guitar. And here on The Land, I’m surrounded by people who Get It. They know civilization’s a misery. And with what’s coming for us in the next decade, what with peak oil and global warming and the food supply screwed eight ways from Sunday, there ain’t going to be much left of civilization anyways.”
“I finished A Language Older Than Words a while back. It was good,” I said.
“Take it easy on the Derrick Jensen. He’s righteous angry and spot on. But too mucha that boy and you’ll lose your will to live,” he said.
“Dang skippy, right?” I replied. “But, actually, what I keep thinking about are bees. Bees pollinate plants, I knew that, but I don’t think I gave much thought about what they really mean, what any of it means, how without bees we can’t grow fruits and vegetables.”
“Eh, don’t get me started on my girls. The hype is how all of a sudden they’re disappearing. But the truth is they been dying off for a hundred years. Global warming and all that shite is getting popular now, so they toss the bee issue in there with it, when what’s really going on is all beings - insects, people, trees, you name it - everything is dying off, mutating at crazy rates.”
“I keep dreaming about them.”
“Yeah, bees. It’ll be a normal dream, then the person I’m talking to in the dream leans in close, and instead of normal eyes, their eyes are made up of thousands of these hexagonal lenses, and I understand I’m talking to a giant bee. But instead of feeling scared, I feel incredibly happy, as if my long lost bee best friend just found me.”
“The bees are trying to make contact with you,” he said. . .