La Vie en Lavande

Buoyant honey bees float on the stalks of lavender, more bees than I’d ever seen, yet quiet as an open-casket funeral. Somehow people fear the dead more when they can see their puffed and painted faces and bees more when they’re buzzing. Rows of gravestones a uniform dove gray fill the spaces between the beds of arching lavender and their bees. Jägermeister-esque deer carved cleanly into the stones stare out at me. Nearby, yellow rose blossoms flutter delicately in the breeze, but their thorny branches deter any thoughts of plucking one to tuck behind an ear. They have been manicured to perfectly frame the headstones, flowers lovingly grown. Bees bounce from grave to grave to hive, yet as if they can tell the dead are hidden beneath six feet of dirt, they buzz a happy song.