I love waking up to frost! It’s magical. It represents to me the reality that not everything stops while I’m sleeping at night. Of course I know that’s true, but it’s great to be reminded in a visual and tangible way. Every tree in our backyard is coated in magnificent white. Each tree looks different as if the frost has adapted to each uniquely. I wasn’t about to trudge through the snow drifts to examine each one, but thankfully, there is a tree right next to the large window in the family room so I could get a close-up of frost’s intricacies on it at least.

As I  let our dogs out this morning, I stood in the open doorway examining the branches encased by spikey hoarfrost. I couldn’t resist. I reached out and delicately touched a few of those spikes. They didn’t melt instantly as I’d expected;  just dislodged from place and hung sideways, askew from the vast community of frost spikes. Shortly they lost their grip and disappeared from view. I don’t know if they fell or dissolved as they fell, but they were gone – barely noticeable was the spot they vacated.

The frost had looked so dainty and delicate from further away, but upon close inspection, I realized they were rows and rows of jutting spikes. It was a little disconcerting, like reaching to pet a darling puppy and having it bare its fangs and growl!

And then there’s the name hoar. Hoar frost. I can remember hearing that description for the first time and wondering where that name could have possibly come from! It’s all in the spelling! Of course I had to look it up! Hoar means grayish white. A perfect description. From far away it looks bright white, but up close it has a grayish hue. I’m sure there is a scientific explanation, but regardless, I will remain in awe of the splendor of frost on a winter morning!

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