In the morning, the sun rises after nine o'clock. The frost cracks the river and its ice. I lift my gaze from my morning coffee and breathe out.

The sky is on fire.

Purple glows on the southern horizon, from somewhere the sun is still trying with its last strength to rise above the horizon and shine. Golden hues reflect off the clouds and the frost-covered forest.

The frost, approaching twenty degrees, has sprinkled frost flowers on the surface of the ice. I step cautiously with my winter boots onto the clear river ice. It cracks, but it seems to hold. The colors of the sky reflect around the frost flowers. It looks as if they are bathing in a purplish fire bath, frozen in place.

Such moments often last only a short time. Half an hour later, the sun has climbed to where it could today. Behind the clouds, just above the edge of the forest. The colors fade in an instant, and the familiar gray-blue returns to the landscape like it has come home.

The magic of small moments.

♥ Hugs, Sanna