Jack Frost sets out first thing. He wraps up warm. Covers every corner of himself in his cloak of chilly colours. The glacial blues and flashing silver hues are trademark Jack.
It’s dark when he leaves home. Dark and cold. The lonesome look of him makes it colder still. His snowy hair and icy eyes send shivering arrows through the air. These shimmering lights guide him on his way.
He travels purposefully in the direction of the woods. Quickly crossing fields and slowly straddling streams. His sailboat of a cloak billows out behind him, perishing every surface it penetrates.
Jack Frost has the powers to freeze. He grins a bitter grin as these magical powers take hold. His withering breath solidifies the earth. In, he breathes. Out, he breathes, leaving a trail of frosty fields in his wake.
He reaches Coolmore Wood just as dawn is breaking into day. He’s on his hands and knees now, Jack, breathing hard and fast. He has the look of a wild animal about him. He clutches his cloak close and scrambles on, determined to fulfil his destiny. To freeze every inch of ground on his designated patch.
The sun is slow to rise this morning. She trembles in the arctic air. Searches the wardrobe for an extra layer. Not to worry, she will shine bright and brave once she gets her bearings.
Jack Frost is done by then. He stands still, safe in the shadows of the woods. He takes a moment to survey his work. Left, he looks. Right, he looks. The polar scene pleases him. He grins his bitter grin again, delighted with his progress.
He needs to rest now, Jack. Hide daylight out. He finds a shady spot in a private place among the firs. He lies low there. Curls up into a cocoon in his cloak of chilly colours. His soft snores soon echo through the air. The trees sway lightly and take up the chorus.
‘Sleep tight Jack’, they chant.
‘Sweet dreams ‘til nightfall strikes again’.
daisyheg 