It's spring, hot April, and your love, the man you love now, is spring- cleaning his beehive. He's covered up - long-sleeved shirt, jeans, rubber gloves, bee-keeper's hat with net, and he's moving the frames around with care and a pry bar. You are watching at a prudent distance - your initiation to bees at work. They swarm on the combs, - How many? - Maybe thirty thousand - and honey oozes and drips from the bottom of the frames. He scoops honey with a green rubber index finger, walks ...