Frosted Pane

The snow mounds
into fluffy banks
on the panes -
a mockery of reality.
Peering through,
droplets forming on glass,
steam obscuring
with every breath.
I used to see you
so clearly through
these portals,
before the ice came,
before the winds howled.
Wiping a warm hand
across the chill,
transparent surface
to see out.
The world has changed.
I recognize nothing,
and the panes
frost over.