By first light the frost on the kitchen window had already handed out brushes no bigger than an eyelash. Each crystal said a quiet hello to the glass, then waited for the kettle to nod before painting exactly one snowflake.
We asked at the bakery downstairs. "I watched them from the landing," said a man with a warm loaf under his arm. "They would not start until the steam bowed. Very professional, for ice."
The building caretaker left a note on the sill: please do not wipe until the lesson finishes, and kindly leave the corner pane for whoever arrives after breakfast. The next morning the same crystals came back with an even smaller brush, and the kettle remembered to nod first.