Wrapped in a wool scarf, my hands stuffed in felt-lined mittens, I looked across the vast pond, snowflakes drifting toward earth. The shallow areas of the pond have begun to freeze; a glassy layer of ice coats the surface, through which dried cattails peek. Glancing around me at the rocky earth, I notice a pile of perfect skipping rocks left behind from a warm summer day on the beach. I squeeze a single flat, rust colored rock between the thumb and fingers of my mitten. Unsure of the mechanics of throwing the rock without my fingers wrapped around the edge, I haphazardly fling my arm out wide and release the rock. The red rock flamed across the ice knocking tiny holes in the thin ice layer as it cartwheeled across the pond. Slowly, it flopped. Flat against the ice, it sat only for a moment before falling through and sinking in the frigid water. As the ripples dissipate, I inhale the serene, crispness of the chilled landscape. The snow has hushed the world around me, creating a tranquil space that allows me to relax, frozen in this moment.