Walking in Fog

A bitter cold snap has warmed and now the trees and the end of my block are shrouded in fog. I walk through air that still has a crisp bite. I walk quickly past frost-blackened foliage.  Somewhere a rooster crows and crows again. The Christmas lights have disappeared from my neighbors’ roofline but red velvet bows still dangle, askew, on their fence. I stop at my own fence. An icy coat has melted and left my rose bush aglitter with droplets of water. A frozen rosehip glows like a jewel.

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