That night, Elias did something he had never done before. He lit a single beeswax candle—the last one from a batch his wife, Eleni, had made thirty years ago—and walked to the edge of the cliff overlooking the dry riverbed. He knelt on the cracked earth and spoke not to God, but to the bees.
As I prepared to leave, Yiannis pressed a small jar of his precious honey into my hands. "For you," he said, with a warm smile. "Remember, the next time you taste honey, think of the beekeeper, and the love that goes into every jar." The Beekeeper Angelopoulos
The Beekeeper : Theo Angelopoulos’s Masterpiece of Existential Alienation That night, Elias did something he had never done before