Intimations of Winter

I walked to work this morning.

The blades of grass were white with frost. The leaves that littered the ground were coated with a thin crystal crust that sparkled in the sun like diamond dust. The sidewalk revealed the treads of those who'd been there as if Mother Nature's CSIs dusted the pavement for shoe prints. The warmth of my breath caused wisps of steam to accompany my whistling.

I popped into the Tim Horton's to pick up a coffee.

When I exited the coffee shop, the sun had been out long enough to melt the magic away. The grass was wet. The leaves were soggy. The sidewalk looked as if it had been rained on. The only steam was the heat that escaped when I lifted the lid from my coffee cup.