A Stilled Life

Frost-charred, an Ash limb casts its arm above a creek. A soundless water ripples beneath, all untouched by light or shade - a stillness etched into a reverie of motion. Snow hangs in the air undisturbed by any breath, if a twig is snapped now, it might break the sky. I have a pebble in my hand, I could throw it, cast a counter-spell, to shatter the moment, Instead, I hold the stone tight, as if it were a deathless diamond.