Yesterday, my son and his friends suddenly scrambled out of my woodshop– out the window, instead of the door.

“Bees!” They were swarming around the grapefruit tree that stands just outside the woodshop door. They were so loud, that when I went to look I thought someone had left my sander running!

Within a half-hour, the swarm had formed itself into a compact, living, ball of bronze and gold. Somewhere in the middle, a young Queen is resting, whilst scouts search for a suitable hiving space.

In this chicken-coop I call home, there ought to be many places where bees can live in safety, but the ball could disappear to parts unknown just as easily. I would like them to stay, what wonderful magic! Even so, I know of an apiarist who maintains bees at a nearby college. I’ve put in a call in case he wants them.

By the way, these are not africanised bees, who would have kept swirling in the air as long as the ball is in one spot– not to mention attacking us as we stood there agape!