Open, empty space; the front yard, heavy with a sparkling sheet; pure, frozen silence, I can almost hear the snowflakes twinkling; squinty eyes from blinding white; air stings the inside of my nose and immobilizes my fingertips; huddled up tulip trees, maple trees, oak trees, pine trees, all clothed in a thin layer of frozen rain, hardly covering their nakedness; branches sag with the weight; heavy hearts coalescing, warmed by a fire’s glow; impatience, then spring; sap, sticking to young fingers, climbing higher and higher in the pines; hiding; you always told me not to climb the trees; I did it anyway; that smell of sweetness and new life blooming, how I gained perspective.