The grass glistens. Beads of dew bend the slender, white stems, bowing, as it seems, to greet the morning. Thrills of anticipation ring in my chest. I close my eyes, imagining the first step to mar the pure whiteness; the delicious, crisp odor of the air stinging my lungs; the satisfying crunch of ice as it crumbles beneath my feet. Shivers of delight course through my veins.
I force my lids to lift.
Cartops and windows are glazed over with the filmy crust. Dark mushrooms dotting the field are fringed with white trimming—beauty in itself! The horizon is edged with a pale-yellow hue that melts into the clear sapphire of the sky.
The sun is just peeking through the trees, casting its golden light upon patches of the silver world. Its golden fingertips brush the pale rooftops dipped in ice. The ruby of the maple lace is bathed in a warm glow as, beneath it, a line of light slowly melts through the icy grass.
The silver, ghost-like light cast into our little house is slowly giving way to the golden warmth of sunlight.
My perfect world is melting fast, bit by bit.
I watch as the steam begins to rise above the last frosted fence top. Drops of water catch the sun’s rays, glittering like jewels.
Golden beams, like ropes, pull the sun from its hiding place behind the trees. Its warmth burst free, lighting the world once again.
Day has begun. The fresh morning is tainted.
My world is not perfect anymore.
But tomorrow will come again—and with it, a new dawn.