• Early in the quiet morning, I wake and stretch.

    I remember the forecast and, like lightning, rush to my window.

    Plush.

    Soft.

    Untouched with little flakes of sugar falling from the marshmallow clouds above. I jump up happily and dart down stares like a child on Christmas morn. I rush past my overjoyed mother and layer on the puffy clothes that keep me snug and warm.

    Though in my joy, I open the door slowly as if worried the wonder was fake. But no, it is still there, with its quiet gentleness of a new season.

    Calm.

    Refreshing.

    Warm yet so cold.

    I prance through its compact winter form, rushing to get a better view. I gasp at every leaf, for each its own special masterpiece, frozen like stone. I sigh at every brush of wind that sweeps over the chilly roofs. I smile at every call of happiness echoing from hills afar.

    Joy tickles me like a kitten bating string. With my humming bird heart, I leap into the frost. Curiosity brews in my mind, so with the Artic winds tickling my nose, I bound threw the vanilla ice cream of nature the Earth has so happily given us to enjoy.