When I looked outside this morning and saw the sun rising, the forest looked like it was twinkling. The frost was thick on the tree branches and the sun was low enough on the horizon to make everything look sparkly.
Snug in the house was fine, but when I went outdoors, the cold air reminded me of Morocco in Merchant of Venice by Shakespeare:
All that glitters is not gold;
Often have you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms enfold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscroll'd:
Fare you well; your suit is cold.
