The snow crunches under my toes.
I feel like Frosty, wrapped up and poofy yet bitterly cold.
Cracking ice, frozen breath, my nose turns a painful pink.
I scoop up snow without gloves,
To examine each individuality...
My life-long curiousity with Wilson A. Bently's science.
My fingers tighten and prickle with cold,
so I follow animal tracks home.
I, bundled and cheerful,
Amble home from the frost to the hearth.