Frost decorates the window panes, glistening crystals of ice that mar the reflection in the glass. I press my hands against it, warm breath striking the window pane and beginning to melt the delicate frost. Outside I can see the snow, falling softly upon the ground, great heaps of perfect snowflakes that have floated down from the vast blue sky. People shuffle by, bundled up in warm coats, hats, scarves, gloves, and heavy boots, red faces bitten sharply by the cold wind. The entire world is frozen—it is as if time has stopped and we hang suspended in limbo, unable to move backward or forward, forever trapped on this cold earth.
I remove my hand from the glass and find that its warmth has melted the frost in the shape of a handprint.