Like Dragon's Breath

The sun edges over the lake, a glorious orange burst of light.  And the light washes over the rippling waves and the still land.  The light is immense and over-whelming.  The sun sits low in the sky on these winter-like mornings and the light cuts through everything like a sharp silver blade.


You think the light can warm you, but it's cold, stark, a bright light with no warmth at all.  Everything is brittle.  The ground is dusted with snow.  The trees are bare; long-reaching branches like gnarled fingers and arms extending out into the brightness.


You can't make it out here without a pair of thick gloves, and a ridiculous hat, and big clomping boots.  But if you are well-armed, it's fine, you can live in it, you breathe in the cold air and expel it, and you watch as your breath rises like vapor clouds before you. It's like "dragons" breath.  A breath that is visible, it let's you know that you are still alive.  And it's good.