Tennessee January

It's winter. January covers the browned hills in soft bluewhite, colours the sky a tender, rosy gray. The short walk over to Grammy's house next door turns into a fairytale trek; the muffled, hollow sounds of the trees, the boys in the trees, my boots crunching on the dead grass make my steps seem innumerable. I hunch over against the cold, see yesterday's shallow puddles frozen at my feet. Snow falling onto the ice has frozen into silver star shapes, delicate flowers, like a hand-beaded vintage dress. The cows in the field beside me are dressed in their own winter coats, snow powdered. They hunch over, shaggy and massive like buffalo. Stolidly ignoring the chill wind, while their winterborn calves frisk behind them like so many delicate fairies. At thirty degrees, the sky above is blank and tender, and every indrawn breath traces itself inside me, cold and sweet.