The ice broke like mugged bones and my feet sunk into mystery. Stepping ahead, I ninety degreed and picked at the cracks. Icicle. Broken icicle. Mud. Half an unfortunate earthworm, the rest of him dragged by a former passerby in footstepped goodbyes. Whitely chewed gum, good for nothing. Falling icicle; sudden-sunshine melts of trodden snow. And underneath this wintry world, a little thankful tuft of green runners. Mystery. I read it like it were Poe, squinting my eyes at the blushing grass that now stretched, crackled and went this way and that to butterfly-catch the sun in their green palms and steal it in mousy bits to their little hearts like no one was watching. I scooped a handful of these bold jacketless survivors and held them adjacent, as I walked against the vengeful wind whose I don’t know whom I had killed. Entering the indecent warmth of the howling-murmuring radiators of my home, I frapped the blind-ropes one by one, as everything was flash-bulbed and revealed. I stole an origami of four cups and divided my grasses like a usurer. Leaving them to find their sun, a week passes by, unnoticeable and cold. Another day, I walk in, blind by the white everything. I steal a breath of the sun, the warm blast of ginger and tea in me. Four green gentlemen tug at my arm. I turn, as one raises a finger to my lips. Another ushers my thumb into my agape mouth, as two more gently sweep me off my feet, swinging lull. As my plants grew up, I grew down. And dreamt of a distant future where I would grow up. Human after all.