Frost

Frost had formed on the quay. Someone had scraped together a small amount of frost on the board walk ahead of me, forming a little white ball. I picked it up, thinking of how it must have been a child, longing for the first snow, shaping a would-be snowball in its little hands. As my fingers made their way around the white little creation, I noticed how it was not a would-be snowball at all. It was someone's used snot tissue.