A dream of dead bees

[smokingboot]

That was weird and unpleasant.

The dream was full of muddled stuff about clothes and travel, but what I can recall clearly is this;

An enemy was being talked about disparagingly; with remarkable self control (for me) I didn't join in. There was something like a community garden with a little entrance to it, and a display booth to the side that might often show off say, prize veg. In it was a crudely wrought poppet, very abstract and quite big. It was shaped a bit like Patrick Star though grey and cheerless. I pulled it out, looked at it, put it back.

Suddenly enemy cried out: she had a hive and it was full of dead bees, frame after frame pulled out, millions of tiny corpses. Everywhere around her hive the bees lay dead on walls and in flower beds. It was an ugly sight. She was distraught. I didn't come close but said a little to comfort her; it felt best to say very little in case it came across as sarcastic, patronising or schaudenfreude.