This morning the wood sparkled.
The fading frost still clung to the grain and slicked the surface. This wood was not trees and leaves, but the plain wooden floorboards of a train station.
The frost made it sparkle in the gleam of the early morning sun.
As I waited for my train I slipped and tripped my way to the end of the platform, then slowly pirouetted, admiring the frost as it tipped and sparkled, like a diamond revolving, catching the sun.
It was curious, the brightness of the sun despite the fog covered city. On the bridge above the platform, the city was engulfed, with towers growing from a cloud.
rathermundane 