Winter's Little Love

A hoary blanket lies across the ground and the children love to be bitten in frost. I watch the young girl purse her lips to purple and still she enjoys the Winter bitterness. In her fluffy pink mittens, she gathers a ball made of crystals and dust- glowing under the sun. And one toss becomes two or three to the boy who eyes at her, blushing a red rush across his cheeks. The day becomes night, and still over the hoary blanket of Winter's bitterness, they played. But I call in my daughter, and boy's father calls his son. They wave good-bye, and eye to eye they gleamed. Their young little love formed like a delicate crystal flake, so fragile and so fun as it lasts. And as winter goes, the snowflake melts all the way so fast.