On a cold morning a few days ago, we (Beau and I) admired the icicles dangling from the eaves of an old house near home. There was a raw north wind, and we thought it would bring this winter's handsome confections crashing down into the snowdrifts below in slivers and shards, a noisy and rather dramatic end to be sure.
Silly us, the wind will not be the architect of such creations, at least this time around. Temperatures in the village will rise today, and our icicles will dwindle and fade away, strange doings at a time when temperatures are usually well below zero, and ice stalactites often reach several feet in length.
Liking the way icicles catch the morning sun on our morning walks, we are feeling cheated. In a day or two (of course) temperatures will plummet, and the village will be a sea of ice again. As above, so below. Here we go again, cleats on our boots. walking sticks with ice prongs, salt and sand and the whole shebang.
1 comment:
No icicles yet in my corner of the world but plenty of walkway and sidewalk black ice this weekend. My best investment has been the Icebug cleated boots. Poor Coco is slipping and sliding on our brief forays.
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