The First Frost of the Year

Dear Delyara, I woke up to find the garden covered in a thin, shimmering layer of white. The world looked like it had been preserved in glass. I walked out in my slippers, the grass crunching under my feet, and watched my breath bloom in the air like a cloud. There was no sound—no birds, no cars, just a heavy, beautiful cold. I stayed out there until my toes went numb. It felt like a reset button. Winter is coming, and there’s something honest about the way everything dies back to make room for something new in the spring. I think I’m doing the same thing.