Dreams of the Frost Queen

Long after the reluctant November Sun closed her eyes and pulled that horizon blanket over her head; long after the cheery living room lights faded and the flickering blue television turned off; childred tucked and turned in; Mothers and Dads dropped into downey beds: long, long after midnight, the Ice Queen comes.
She sends the cold fog, a thousand fingers on a thousand hands, fine tendrils and spirals pushing into town, from far fields amd distant waters, alone in the dark quiet; a show unannounced. Secret hush.
She comes and dress'd the windows in fine lace; gliding 'cross mundane sweat of asphalt streets; leaving sparkles and King's crowns; grace of young ladies' curtsies; of soft music under crisp star light.
Children called, sending their shadows to play. Shadows that slide between ridgid posts and fence board, into silver streets, gliding reflections of distand stars; sugar dusted side walks and crunch grass. Twirling, chuckling, silent shouting, the dance of shirtless care; of abandon in the cold love of November's Consort; the Ice Queen.
At dawn, when the black sparkle sky fades to royal, then rose edged blue, when the surprized Sun lurches from her Eastern bed; gazing into bedroom windows, tapping on far walls, warm covers and closed eyelids, saying:
Come see the passing of my shadow, there on your window, the children of the Frost Queen.