The Golden Crossing
The bees are still in the hive. You sit on the porch steps, watching the amber glass catch the last of the afternoon light. They do not sting. They hum. A low, continuous vibration that you feel in your teeth before you hear it with your ears. It has been three days since the war ended. Three days since the guns stopped firing in the valley below. You are a man who has built things. Frames....
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