Tasting the Morning Frost

I pushed through the screen door onto the porch, carrying a tin cup filled with cold well water. The morning chill had settled on the wooden boards, leaving a fine rime of frost over the handrail. Leaning against the post, I set the tin cup down and picked up a dried split pea pod left over from harvest. With my thumb, I popped the brittle seam, rolling three hard green seeds across my palm before lining them up along the clean rail edge to dry in the dawn light.