Frost

Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window as I brewed my cup of morning tea. The whole apartment was bathed in bright, warm light and a glance out the window revealed a joyous blue sky as wide and clear as any Texas morning vista. Who would have thought I would wade through chilly 34 degree temperatures on my way to the car. Brrrrr! I had heard the weather forecast, knew it was cold, wore my black leather jacket.

I slung my ergonomic bookbag over one shoulder and, energized by the bracing air, stepped lively toward the car, purposely breathing heavily and watching the little clouds of my steamy breath quickly evaporate. I love fall. I walked across the lawn instead of sticking to the sidewalks so I could scuffle through the thin layer of leaves papering the feet of the various trees.

A glorious morning to be alive - the morning after the first frost of the season. Still at 8am the grass was covered by a fragile coating of whiteness here and there, turning the grass a light green, dulling the purples and yellows of the wildflowers alongside the road, assisting leaves in their plunge to the ground. I drove along, noting the subtle changes here and there as the world woke to the approaching autumnal changes.

Suddenly, to my right, a huge field glared into view, lying a bit lower than the ground about it, just past a pinetree ensconced farm house, right before the little Baptist Church with the golf course in the side yard. It was totally engulfed in white frost, thick enough to be mistaken for snow, looking for all the world like an ice skating rink. Not a soul stirred there, not a leaf nor a blade of grass. Everything was completely motionless, unmoving, frozen.

"Winter is next," it warned me. "Beware. Soon all the world will follow my lead." I sailed by silently, staring at the glare of the sun reflecting from the whiteness. "Not yet," I respond. "Winter is not here yet. Today I chose to shuffle through leaves and twirl in the bright sun. You shall not encroach so soon. You will have to wait your turn." And I drove on to work.