The petals have a trace of white around the edges, as if they were almost filled with their cherry red hue, yet not quite. It is as if they await the divine hand to complete them, to be the final artist they need.
The frost comes as snow without cloud, bringing a brilliance to the dawn. Sarah allows herself a moment to admire it, to see the many shapes of the water crystals. For in only an hour it will raise up into the blue sky, a soft vapour in the breeze.
This frost is the last wintry song, reflecting the dance of the sunshine in every direction. Gone are the days of snow, of ice, of thick hats and jackets. The spring is coming with such confidence, and this is the final step back into the chill. From here on in it's all warmth, the long days under a giving sun.
When the leaves don their jackets of ice sequins, and I watch my breath rise to meet the silvery clouds, there is the crunch of frost with each step onward. Thus I hear my pace as a steady drum beat, a percussion to the birds who sing.