the drone is the colony's small spending. blunter than a worker, larger, eyes that meet across the top of the head. no sting, no pollen-basket, no foraging. his work is one afternoon's flight at a high congregation site, where he and several thousand others wait for a queen who may or may not pass.
those who succeed die in the act. those who do not are fed by sisters they will outlive only until autumn, at which point the colony — quietly, with no ceremony — carries them to the entrance and refuses them re-entry. the bee-keeper finds them on the boards in october, perfectly intact, very light.
the drone is the only bee a child may safely hold. for this reason he appears more often in old field-notes than his number warrants. see also the rumour bee, who carries away what is said while he is held; and the winter hive, which has none of him at all.
— picked one up in the garden. he sat in my palm and did nothing. — k.r.