Winter's Wizardry

Colossal crystallized icicles cling to the edge of the roof in winter and glisten like teary eyes as they stare down at me on a crisp, sunny day before I break one off and poke its pointy pinnacle in between my lips – wetted – so it does not stick on when I pretend the snow angel rises to perform in the orchestra I am about to conduct with my brumal baton after I savor its fresh-frost flavour and watch as freezing fluff descends like dazzling collections of dainty diamonds that put the ghostly glitter of a snowglobe to shame and gently kiss my nose and feather my lashes so that I look like a beautiful Arctic owl, my eyes round and wise as they take in faraway views of a glass lake covered in whirling white skates slicing the ice into flakes that fly from them like a spray of stormy hail that whistles in the wind when it is too cold to create the lacy hexagons that layer themselves into mounds meant for sliding down on wooden toboggans and crazy carpets until my nose and cheeks are cold and as red as Rudolph’s nose, only making the hot cocoa taste sweeter when I hold it with my hands wearing soft woolen mittens that are now heavy with crusted ice at the cold concerto’s closing.