It's Night....

It's night, and the sky is dark. The house is warm, but not hot - comfortable enough. Outside, the wind is whistling to itself with the laughter of something that knows more of the world than I do. Beneath its wandering, the car windows have frosted up. I am sure by now there are whorls and patterns, the ones that look so lovely in the fresh-formed frost, and fade so quickly with the sun (or the ice-scraper). The wind is singing to itself down the long streets, while the frost curls in to rest for as long as it's allowed. It's winter. Winter. It's winter.