Cold Sun

The sun is cold, white gold. Coloured fleeces on the washing line. The smell of dew falling. A fresh, steady wind like a sea breeze. Faultless blue sky. A lone queen, optimistic in her bumbling. Bees fresh from their winter slumber, feasting in the Mirabelles, themselves carelessly early and defiant of the frosts. Bringing pollen to the hive for their own hungry queen, to start her laying on the steady march on Spring. The sun, which has been warm today to our winter-adapted bodies, turns to cold, white gold on the horizon.