I made a honey cake for the Sunday market. I used the honey from the hive of bees that attacked Wally several years ago. I use it as medicine and for special occasions. The honey, black as a moonless night, flows slow and potent. It’s Christmas, so I want its magic to be in the cake like a blessed remedy for the coming new year. This is the winter solstice and new moon, the darkest part of the year. This is not the time for planting or harvesting but for going within, for listening to what heart wants head to know, not the other way around. May all who eat this Christmas cake metabolize what poisons, transmuting it to remedy and the cure. Wally ate the first piece and I took a bite too. Blessed be the bees.