Thinking of a Frost

I only saw it in the dark. As I clumped down the steps, accompanying our dog on one of her many nightly business trips, I noticed a coating of crystals on the trees and brambles of the yard. Unlike the sharp gleam of ice, this garment of scale-like crystals bristled around branches and winter-dead leaves to create a soft reverse-exposure silhouette--pale (not exactly white, almost tinted with rose or brown) against a black satin sky. I called for my brother to join me, and together we stood beneath a tree and looked up through its transformed branches at stars, sharp and clear in a patch of the wide night. By the time I woke and went outside the next morning, little remained of the last night's masterpiece--only a fancied gleam over the snow, like many flat crystals sifted to earth.

Sometimes I fear the renewed hope which stirred in my heart that New Year's week will prove as ephemeral as the fragile transformation lent to the trees that night. It stands a poor chance if its maintenance is all up to me. But I think it isn't.