Instead of glancing off at low angles, the sun shines more directly on surfaces these days and, in spite of the unseasonably cool temperatures we’ve had, eaves drip and the sound of running water is heard in the stream beds.
Dark surfaces become warmer than the air that surrounds them, and even a light coating of dust is enough to tip the balance and allow ice to become water, if only for a minute. Melt water on the road flows to the shade of the cedar tree by the drive and hardens to a smooth, slippery finish and opaque ice builds beneath the eaves like stalagmites in a cave.
Slowly but surely, this year’s snowfall makes its way to the ocean, advancing as far as it can during the day before the angle of the sun changes and the chill of night sets in. Each day brings another few minutes of sunlight that is increasing in intensity, and each day the snow, the ice, and even the woods themselves react.
Water flows year-round from springs in the valley, and streams run throughout the winter here. Some of that constant flow makes a short stop on its way to the Atlantic, coating everything it splashes as it drops from the outlet of Fish in a Barrel Pond. Cold water meets colder air and fantastic forms arise.
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My last post, “Mad Marchness” featured full-color photos from a week ago that look to be black and white. That’s just how dreary it can be around here sometimes. Overly-sensitive types should probably not live here. Not only do some people suffer when the light is dim and the world is coated in ice, some of them experience euphoric shock when the sun finally does reappear.
Tonight it is snowing.
Quill, the never ending winter is both beautiful and ugly depending on the day. One’s mood is so darn effected by it all. I am ready to be in a good mood on a consistent basis.