Last night the trees were coated by hoar frost, the thin branches yearning like crystal arms, frozen in time, frozen in my mind as my shoes slipped and slid over the pavement. The moon rinsed itself in a cloud of mist, a glowing frozen ice cube in my eye; her halo hung to my right, pinned by the wrist steady and constant in the sky painting, left, the boughs with a pale light. The wind and the back of my throat ringed intertwined like the winding on a piano string waking my brain from the stolid night air. And though the night owns the moon as the city owns the tree, I, alone was there to see. -Samantha Derleth