Frost

  
After the fact. That’s what he was. A long shadow,standing still by the lake. He listened to the ice as it thickened under the driving snow. The bare trees. No one ever asked where the colours went after the leaves fall. They have to go somewhere, don’t they? Or maybe they don’t. A memory can feel like an event. And a shadow can look like a person. Winter can feel like a season. But they are all very different…

Maybe winter is just a blank canvas for new beginnings…for dreams.
After the fact. After the summer. After the affair. After the show.
That’s what he was.
He stood still. A shadow by the lake. Where the girl was skating. She couldn’t see, but it was right there. By the red bench.The ice was thinner. . . 
 a memory… 
A hollow sound of echoes and ice breaking – cold water rushing in. But that was from the past…
This was a blank canvas. 
This was a new dream.
And he had to follow the girl. Where was she? Under the ice. No…they found her. She was being pulled from the water?
No that was the past. 
She was skating across the thin ice. He looked at it…
The snow falling…
He reached forward…
Leaving a print of snow flakes in her path…
His name was Frost…Jack Frost.