“Freezing fog had moved in cold silence over the fields during the night, encrusting the buildings and leaving spiky crystal evidence of its damp presence.
‘Prickles, Mama, like cactus!’ Everett was fascinated with the hoarfrost up and down the fence line around the blanketed garden. It was icy magic, but after dawn the fog lingered just at the tree line, leaving the morning gray and gloomy.” The Sparrow’s Choice
We had more of the freezing fog and its prickly presence this last week, more of the same that inspired the prickles in my story. It’s a tradeoff for the cold and damp, so I try to enjoy the artistic leavings of an unwanted visitor.