A frost bitten flower

I guess you can think of it as a metaphore

I sigh deeply as I step outside.

My breath billows upward,

In a plume of steam,

Like smoke.

I take a step forward and look across the field,

only to see a silvery stillness.

The old, yellow stalks of plants are bent down and hard,

and even the trees are frozen.

I scan the yellow, shining field again,

But this time, something catches my eye.

I quickly look back to see what it was, but it has escaped my sight.

But wait.

Is there something there?

A hint of color in this frozen world?

I run towards the spec of light in the dull landscape,

This time I keep my eyes stuck to it,

So as not to loose sight of it again.

As I approach it, I fall to my knees to look closer.

I see a shimmering rose, so delicatly frosted on this cold fall morning.

It may be the last one this season.

I stay there to observe the beautiful legacy of summer for a few more minutes,

And then I start my treck back home, right as the sun begins to rise,

And melt away the frost.

 

Author's Note

Please comment! It's a new kind of writing for me.