Oz

The child has never seen a city. Over the frosted rise breath steams in brief firefly puffs from their lips as towers grow before them, mirrors caught in early sun setting one side ablaze in garish frozen approximation of fire and glory.

What are they the girl says.

The mother has stopped and they cease beside her with suspicious looks over the white topped expanse and city beyond. The mothers breath lets out in sudden steaming cloud.

It’s Oz she says.

But it will not be Oz.