A name from the North

The stars are reflected in the glimmer of the headlamp's light on the snow

And the air is frozen-- it feels like the sensation of holding your hand under water so burning hot that

it begins to feel cold

somehow.

A day as grey as

the clouds above it

And the hills, which have changed from green to orange to purple to a deepest blue in the fading light

with a few bursts of yellow from the beech trees, holding on in their marcescence

If life is full of the little things

like skating on smooth black ice and laughing with a friend

then I have nothing to look forward to

because there is good in every day.