A frigid morning turns your breath to smoke
molding a billowing column of chaotic design.
A frigid morning numbs your hands and freezes your fingers
and makes your pocket change sticky with cold.
A frigid morning creates a motionless world
in which your crunching footsteps echo
and reverberate though the streets.
A frigid morning sketches frosty patterns on the windshields of cars
the remnants whisked away by straining ice scrapers.
A frigid morning makes the world feel small
like a serene snow globe standing on a shelf for too long.
A frigid morning chills the air that enters your lungs
leaving you alert and auspicious for the day to come.
A frigid morning announces its arrival with the gentle twittering
of birds perched on branches heavy with ice.
A frigid morning sings its glory with no hint of reserve
its splendor indescribable but perfectly understandable.