Saturday, 7 January 2017

Frost

frosty morning frosty garden Memories of Jack Frost winter's mornings as a child with patterned window panes and crunchy grass under school shoes and breathing out a flurry of air like a little dragon. Examining frosty gems on leaf edges and being satisfied with a sparkling covering, second place to snow in its transformation of the daily landscape. Something new, a fresh angle, changing that which seemed insignificant into a glorious winter view of white rooftops, ice in buckets and tones of blue. I can stand for ages, absorbed in its beauty and admire the grasp of Old Man Winter. A ferocious grasp on any herbaceous plant that dared to have perky green shoots this far into winter, now slumped in defeat.....for now at least. A dazzle of silver as the low sun hits each crystal, ready to burn away into vapour like the circle of smoke from next door's chimney.frosty by the fence little cottage frosty sun

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