Winnie-The-Pooh was walking thru the woods when he heard a locus, rattling his wings loudly; penetrating the silent hum of the wind as it caressed thru his hairy ears into his fragile brain. He smiled, hungrily, and continued on in search of the sweet nectar he desired. He searched and searched thru the wind, and the trees, and the locusts; stepping over branches and breaking the tiny stems of purple flowers in his search for the fluid of life. He would find it buried in a bee hive, an analogy of perfection, coated with buzzing pain and endless suffering.