Frostbite

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.