Misty stared at her ice cream as it dripped down the side of the cone.
She did not buy her ice cream to eat. It had too many calories, and really wasn’t very good ice cream overall. But as an art project, it was pure beauty.
It began as something solid, an ecru colour that held its mounded shape atop the conical wafer. But over time, with the gradual warming effect of the air, the ice cream began to sweat, and then to melt. It certainly tried to resist, first developing frost crystals, but those could not stand up to the forces of its environment.
Misty watched the first drip, then the second, begin to form on the lip of the cone, and now, as they were joined by a third, spill over. The drip crept toward her hand, her thin fingers ready for their cool no-longer-cold.
As the ice cream continued to melt, Misty lifted her camera to take pictures. It was a slow process, this piece of art, but it would be glorious and dramatic, and not a little bit brilliant.
The ice cream continued to melt.