Crystal White sleeps through spring and summer. Tats fine lace on crisp fall days. In winter, an icy wraith, She crusts roofs, coats bare branches. Under deciduous trees, leaves clump, stiff to the ground.
She casts a spell. Keeps me warm abed. Reluctant to heed the call of morning’s light, I dream of fragrant gingerbread. Relaxed under a blanket, I peruse the glossy pages of a travel book. A fire warms the room. The logs crumble to embers.
Resigned, I set aside all thoughts of reprieve. Dark days are coming, Winter before spring. Grim hiatus, but these trials will pass.
Monica lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and two foster dogs. She taught parents how to raise their toddlers for twenty-five years before retiring in 2015 to write. The secret to toddlers is to make sure you get enough sleep. Monica hasn't found the secret to writing, yet, but is diligently working at it. See links to her on-line stories on the publications page.
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Monica's Monday Morning Flash 