A missive from the summer solstice when my babies were still babies… In the garden, giant bumble bees circle the purple sage flowers. They are looking for a sweet sip. My son starts to flap his hands and shoo them away, but I stop him. “No, no!” I say, “Don’t scare them or they will sting you!” He looks at me with a knit brow. What does sting mean? He’s never heard the word before.
I try again: …
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