The ice-frosted grass glistens in the soft light of dawn. Glassy beads of dew bend the slender, white blades—bowing, as it seems, to hail the morning. Thrills of anticipation ring in my chest. I close my eyes, imagining the first step to mar the pure whiteness; the delicious, crisp odor of the air stinging my lungs; the satisfying crunch of ice as it crumbles beneath my feet. Shivers of delight course through my veins.

I force my lids to lift.

The grass glistens. Beads of dew bend the slender, white stems, bowing, as it seems, to greet the morning. Thrills of anticipation ring in my chest. I close my eyes, imagining the first step to mar the pure whiteness; the delicious, crisp odor of the air stinging my lungs; the satisfying crunch of ice as it crumbles beneath my feet. Shivers of delight course through my veins.

I force my lids to lift.