An older bee-veil shakes the bees off the branch into a basket, though actually most of them miss and fall to the ground. Fall towards that ground, that is, swinging up at the last moment with a clumped agility that seems to belie the swarm's compound nature... then up over the roof tops. At the edge of your eye-resolution, they pause to shape into a complex flat-shape, dots of ink on a rough page.     The hives were filled with their clear honey. James Hive-Maker had never harvested so early as that year. The colonies were so crowded that everyday there was a new swarming.