Frost

It's coming soon to a meadow near you.  I took this picture this morning when driving home from Vermont.  Look closely at the shaded area in the front of the picture.  So much frost, it appeared like snow when it first came into view. 

I was startled by the beauty.  I don't even think it was safe where I pulled over to take some pictures, but I could not drive past without capturing an image of the fleeting splendor. And of course, I had to fall in love with it.

Now, there are two ways of looking at frost.  It is my nature to look at the negative, so I am compelled to think of the death of my garden peppers and beans and tomatoes.  I shiver in anticipation of a harsh winter, of never feeling warm despite layers of clothing.  I dread a world lacking color and promise.

And then I look again at the pictures of the morning, and I see such incredible beauty and stillness.  Words like shimmer and sparkle are hard to avoid.  Blue sky and white meadow.  Sun and shade.  The inevitable victory of the sun over the crystals, but the certainty of the insistent frost returning on another night to claim revenge.

I used to tell my children made-up stories of Jack Frost, and I can still see their happy faces when they would wake up to a front yard painted silver by the devilish little imp.  I miss those children and I miss those stories. 

One morning soon, I will awaken to a glittering white lawn.  I hope I see love.