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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The pond froze so suddenly that a duck mid-quack found its bill glued shut, an absurd ice sculpture. Mrs. Harlow’s terrier, mid-leap, hung suspended in the air like a fuzzy comma, punctuating nothing. The streetlamps blinked, then hardened into amber icicles— even the wind gave up, curling into itself for warmth. Old Man Greeley, halfway through shaking his fist at a squirrel, became a monument to irritation, his mittens stiff with frost. The children, though, were the first to notice: they pressed their tongues to the icy slide at the park stealing the cold for themselves.
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