fine black mesh on a wide brim. the veil is not armour; bees can land on it, and do, and walk along it, and a bee will eventually find the small opening at the cuff if you forget to tuck. the veil only buys time, and dignity, and the use of one's face.
through it the world is a finer screen. the hive appears as a soft warm rectangle; the garden is rendered as a grid of greens. a swarm on the lilac looks, through a veil, like a single warm weight hanging from a calm hand.
the bee-keeper puts it on before walking the courtyard clover; the smoker follows. veil first, smoker second — never the other way. a veiled face, even empty, has a posture that bees recognise.
— left the veil on the bench. wore it home without taking it off. — k.r.