The hives are glowing and I can't find my own hands

I'm walking the apiary at night and every hive is lit from inside, warm amber like someone left a lamp on. I go to open one and my hands aren't there—just the smell of honey and smoke. The bees don't sting, they just hum in a key I almost recognize. I wake up with my fingers still buzzing, wondering if that's what it feels like when your work starts keeping you instead of the other way around.