The Silent Geometry of Frost

Cold architectures bloom upon the glass, fractal ferns that know no summer soil. They map the exhalation of the night, silver rivers locked in sudden ice.

A sparrow lands upon the iron gate, disrupting nothing in this brittle world. Its breath a brief and vanishing smoke, a soft defiance in the frozen air.

The sun ascends, a pale and distant fire, tracing edges of the hoarfrost lace. It pulls the fragile structures back to water, erasing the mathematics of the cold.