FROST ON THE WINDOW PANE--

Last night tumbling snow painted the air gray and it was quiet as butterfly breath while darkness consumed us.

The temperature plummeted as if the thermometer had fallen off the wall and Max came in, gently complaining of peeing stalactites.

Then, it was black and the fuzzy quarter moon stencilled a soft silhouette of the woods on the quartz-studded snow.

Jack Frost, meanwhile slowly embroidered his crystallized designs on the windows...

...and, my little slice of nirvana was at frigid peace with itself. --tw