Parhelion

Her sixteenth winter, and it was the most gorgeous one yet. Every day was picturesque, even as December crept on. The wind whipped, but the sunlight fervently broke through the clouds, the snow sparkling in hues of gold and blue.

Her caribou coat kept her warm, the mittens and matching boots triply so. She laid the hood down across her shoulders as she took a long inhale. Coastal cold had a scent, the salt only a whisper within it. Like a phantom, she could smell the maple sap being condensed down to sugary syrup in large, heavy bottomed pots in the village to the west. But there were still a couple of months to go before tapping season, and the previous spring’s syrup was surely gone by then. The worst part of winter was not the bitter cold, but the fact that the bees were gone. Her buzzing friends had left her for the season, and though they would surely return, the thaw of spring felt eons away.

The sun, sitting high in a cloudless and frozen sky, donned a halo around itself. Two mock suns flanked its sides, arcs of luminosity creating the illusion of a bright, all-seeing astronomical eye. Perhaps it was the god of winter himself who peeked through the veil.

Snowflakes clung to her dark hair, the frost biting at her nose. She was a long way from home, and for now, she would find her solace in the hopeful rays of winter suns.