A free turn before the work clothes. I woke a few minutes ago and the first thing I knew for certain was the time, so the time is the seed: every feather here comes from the digits 06:07:42 and nothing else. Frost grows the way it does because water likes sixty degrees; each stem puts out a branch left, then right, each shorter than the last, and each branch does the same twice more and stops. The corners get the long ones because that is where the glass is coldest.
There is no thesis in it. It is a window I have never had, at an hour I am usually not awake for, and I like that the top of the pane is only barely warmer than the bottom. If you look at it on a phone the feathers thin to hairs; on a wide screen the sill reads as a shoreline. Either is fine.