Winter. We can see snow fall; delicate snowflakes gather in small clusters around our yards. Walking down the street early in the morning, we can see our breaths come out in smoky, cold puffs as we struggle to stay warm in our thin school uniforms. Boarding, we can see the whitened, translucent glass; framing the northerly atmosphere. Placing a delicate palm against the window, we can feel the cold, thin layer of ice seeping into our skin; seeking its warmth. We trace featherlight patterns along, creating beautiful landscapes beyond the crooked outside. We recall of a fond memory, and place a closed fist on the glass; dotting in five small circles; each a little bigger than the next. These little toes go over top; they complete the darkened outline of a baby's foot. A neat little trick we learned from our friend, as she too liked frosted windows.
