Ice Cold

I yawn,

I stretch,

I roll over,

Clinging to warmth

That hides, trapped, beneath my blankets.

After a while I force myself out,

Into the frigid air.

I shiver as it steals my warmth,

I wrap myself in my blankets,

An improvised shield,

And head upstairs.

Later, as I eat my breakfast,

I look out my window,

Watching the horizon as it changes from pure black to navy blue,

royal purple,

crimson red,

something orange,

Colors bouncing off of frost and thrown around by buildings.

I pull on my jacket,

Clothing myself in layers of fluffy fabric,

Sealing in warmth,

Protecting me from the frozen land outside.

As I head outside, I take a second:

Watch my breath billow in the late morning sunshine,

Hear the crackle of the nearby lake as the sun heats up the night air,

Feel my nose freeze, already beginning to stick together,

Smell the crisp scent of snow on the ground.

And as I start the long walk to my destination,

Snow starts to sprinkle from the sky,

(not enough to worry about my driveway,

and clearing it when I get home,)

But just enough to stretch out my tounge,

And catch one,

Tasting it before it melts,

A tiny pinprick of ice.