The frost catches me by surprise.
Living lace peaks from the corners of my window panes. It highlights each strand of grass, sparkles on the neighbor's roof, grows in my lungs when I breathe deep of the crisp morning air.
The sun glow pink behind the fir trees, and my toes glow pink from the chill of the frozen bricks.
It is morning in November.
I think it odd that the frost delayed its appearance until now, so late in the fall, after so many cold nights.
Then I remember: the clouds. For weeks, they've lingered, thick and numbing.
Frost rarely grows without the light of the moon glittering like a diamond in the darkness.
I inhale deep. The sharpness of clarity etches me.
And like the frost, I catch the sun.
Linking up with Amber's abstraction on frost and Heather's call to Just Write, because this piece from one of my favorite abstract-and-writerly friends cleared the fog in my soul and let light shine on me like hope.
