Smoker Embers, Bermondsey Rooftop Twilight

I'd just finished the inspection when I set the smoker down on the parapet ledge and turned back for the hive tool. The bellows were still warm, a thin thread of pine-needle smoke rising into the orange sky, the steel canister blackened and dusted with ash against the Georgian brick behind it. That's the shot — not the bees, not the frames, but the tool cooling down, the labour almost over, the city holding its breath.