A bee’s proboscis

In the late evening the peeks of sound are softened and dispersed, everything begins to lull and the tiny sounds of the world start to intrude. As I walked anti-clockwise around the moors, I could hear the mosquitoes humming around my face and the fish surfacing to snatch flies from the surface of the river. In the meadow opposite, the sound of crows seemed to be much further away than they actually were. This slight delay or dislocation of sound contributed to a soporific sense of stillness, like the loss of time or dreamy sate one feels when in a film the sound is separated from its visible source.
As I recorded the call of the crows a bee came to a flower under the microphone and I realised that, not only could I could hear the bumble of the bee’s wings, but also its tongue as it scrapped the insides of the flower: a delicious aural texture lapping in my ear. Listen above (headphones recommended).
The light began to disappear and we saw a fox cub sauntering down the path that leads to the pond. It lay there next to its earth for a while before running into the dusk and undergrowth. I scratched at my neck as the silent tongue of a mosquito surgically pierced my skin and I realised that for the mosquitoes, I was just walking food: a human takeaway.

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1 Response to A bee’s proboscis

  1. Donald says:

    Please email me with your request to visit the cattle on a Monday morning at Winnall. Perhaps if you telephone one evening after 20.00 this would be preferable to make a plan.



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