Frost on the windowpane

Frost on the car windows this morning reminded me of the frost I used to see on the window next to my bed when I was a girl, snuggled down warm in my comforter, admiring the lovely patterns, each one different, wondering how they got there, why they were all different. Mostly, though, just admiring them, drifting off into their matrix-like interiors, dreaming- In these days of thermal windows that doesn’t happen much, that proximity to the cold- except in the one window that’s next to my bed, the one the teenage alley boys threw a rock at last year and broke the thermal seal. Yet even though I open my window at night, the warmth that drifts into our bedroom from the wood-stove means it must still be very cold outside to create frost on the windowpane; there was none this 16-degree morning.

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