The next  jour , things are back to normal. It's time to go to work with  abeille . You've been to the battlefield and the Antarctic, however, and the tools of the trade seem to have gathered a few extra meanings, private to your own experience of course, and also without practical value. You wouldn't think of sharing these thoughts... but you do pause, picking up the  abeille  smoker. The  blanc   brume  falls out of the  cone . souls fleeing across the ice, heading towards the  objectif  of your  caméra . your  cerveau  felt the impact as they hit the trapping  filme . Later (but contiguous in your thoughts)...poison gas lifts in streamers through the  air , following the vacuum and turbulence left behind by  explosion  of a portable grenade. At the edge of the battlefield is a  ruche . In the  ruche  are  abeille , warriors with multifaceted  yeux  like cameras that swing out over the  monde , past the limits of the their wood home-cube at the edge of the battle, up over the hill, village,  ville , high, towards the  soleil , which guides and propels the searchers out to the limits of the nation and beyond, searching for food to bring back to the  ruche , to make into  miel . Honey is the business, and at that, Hive-Maker starts to work with his bees.     A l'été 1916, James Hive-Maker revint au foyer et à son élevage d'abeilles au nord de Londres, pour surveiller le travail saisonnier et vérifier ses ruches.