The sun came out

Trees are lined with light, looking like frozen fireworks. Stars sing on every branch and carelessly twinkle across the ground. Silver armor has its price: The trees groan instead of whisper, and pelt me with clear-ambered buds.

The sun hides behind a cloud, and in the afternoon's warm air the trees will throw down their spears of ice, but for a while there was a rare glory in the meadow.