First Frost

The air slipping in through the gap in the window was different. What had been damp until yesterday was, this morning, sharp enough to cut. She pulled the blanket close and curled up. The toes poking out from the covers were cold. She didn't want to get up. But the scent of coffee drifting through the room woke her. In the kitchen, he was brewing coffee. Outside, frost had settled on the windowpane. Not a sight she was seeing for the first time, but it was the first frost of the year. Barefoot, she crossed the cold wooden floor to him. Without a word, he handed her a cup of coffee. Its warmth spread across her palms. Outside, the yellowed leaves of the ginkgo tree scattered in the wind. Autumn was coming to an end. Sipping her coffee, she thought that somehow winter would come earlier this year. He opened the window and breathed in the outside air. “Cold, isn't it?” he asked. She shook her head. She was cold, in fact, but she didn't say so. Over the frosted grass, the morning sun stretched long. Watching that light, she smiled quietly.