A Land of Ice

A week ago, we awoke to a world coated in icy tendrils, their deep-hued veins visible to any who would look. While I had commitments to keep, this frosted place beckoned my wandering feet and unadulterated attention. "Witness!" it cried.

Outfitted for a proper roving, I gypsied with the pleasant weight of my camera nestled in the crook of my arm, fragile blades of grass breaking with a most satisfying crunch underfoot. Better than bubble wrap. I lost count of how many times the light took my breath away. Soft and true. Frost adorned every fallen leaf like velvet. The cold clung to blue shadows, but already it was losing. The sun climbed, and before long the tinkling melody of raining branches filled the hollows and hills.

Light illuminated white tree tops, melting away to the ordinary brown of midwinter. For a moment, this dreary place rivaled the ice castles of fairy tales. The night before, Alice cried out, "Look, Mama! A land of ice!" Much like us, beautiful for a night on the town. Then after we tire of our jewelry and fine things, we slip into comfy pajamas, happy to have been much muchier, if only for a little while.

Hello again, Blair. You sure clean up nice.

Heather Hall