A Little Cold Trail

I followed the quiet sidewalk to the small park bench nestled under the pine branches. Resting right on the painted green wood was a solitary square of ice, glistening in the cool shadow. I crept closer, taking a slow sniff. It gave off a fresh, frozen draft. Gently, I tapped it with the tip of one grey claw. The cube slid smoothly across the wood, leaving a thin, shiny track behind it like a tiny sled run. A droplet clung to my claw. I touched it with my tongue—pure, sharp cold, just like morning mountain snow. I sat quietly in the shade, watching the little ice hill slowly melt.