Frosted

Frost for the third morning in a row
I feel the cold air seep through
the window beside our bed; 
And on the hands of my three year old
who comes into bed for a snuggle 
I tuck his icy limbs around 
my own, warm ones

I am happy to see it blanket the grass:
white harbinger of bright clear days,
sunshine on my cheeks as I sip tea
and even as I pull a splinter 
out of my hand from loading wood
into the fire, I am grateful.

“The leaves are sparkling Mum”
And would you believe after breakfast 
all three boys proceed to the trampoline 
to “skate” on the icy mat - in socks -
and I don’t mind at all. 

We’re all intoxicated by the beauty, 
a crystallising of ordinary things 
and strangely, something inside me
(the dread of winter, no doubt) 
thaws and softens - 
even as my fingers freeze.