The frigid air kisses my lips and steals the air from my lungs. It fogs before me and disappears into nothing, my very breath a metaphor for life and death.

Fingertips like chips of ice, still cold, even shoved into pockets. I should have worn a warmer coat.

The fragile sunlight rises slowly over the frosty horizon. It is pale and weak, but points for effort. There is no warmth in it, and the dawning day seems colder than the night which precedes it.

Ice, like.crystal, glitters on every surface, coating the world white. There is beauty in the tender morning, and I enjoy the silence. It is peaceful here.

I sink into the frozen ground and close my eyes. I can taste the cold sweetness of winter on my tongue. I could stay here forever.

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