Wintery Blush

Wintery Blush. The street was cold snow had yet to fall, asphalt frozen pearly grey and pavement tiles cracked underfoot. The sky was limp clear, the sun was but a decoration, a miserable yellow balloon not taken down after the New Year party. From the insipid sky hung icicles the sun couldn’t thaw, but solar reflections made them look like sparkling diamonds. A frozen painting of isolated beauty, of an unbridgeable haughtiness that knew of no compassion. White clouds gathered looking as a flock of polar bears waking over their future demise. But their warm breaths thawed the icicles that fell like snow, covered the land; and my untidy garden appears equal to the neat ones.