Tonight I planted two small rowan trees in the dark, by the light of a growing moon. There was a purpose to the darkness. It was not some strange custom, simply pragmatism. The trees were planted beside the bee hives and the darkness ensured they were all tucked up in bed. I planted these little trees that we received as wedding favours. One tree for the lovely Sharon, and the other tree for our american friend who spent her holidays with us. She, wisely, was unsure how the american customs would react to trying the bring a tree home.
It is said that rowan trees will keep witches away. It is also said that you are supposed to tell the bees all the news. I’m not sure about the trees, but I do enjoy the strange custom of talking to the bees. As the hives hummed away in the still evening air I told them the news. I first thought it only fitting to apologise for recently stealing thirty five jars of honey from them. Then I told them that two of our friends were married and gave us these trees to keep the witches away. Then the ridiculousness set in; of these two boxes of seventy thousand venomous insects needing protection. Then the real ridiculousness set in; of me whispering to bees in the dark.