Silence in Ice

I walked by the corner of the shed today and hanging off the moss-covered roof were icicles. Every single winter, as the morning sun rises and melts the snow on the shed roof, it drips down and forms a perfect row of icicles.

The icicles have always been here, a comforting winter staple. On our way out to the school bus in the morning we would grab a few and pelt each other with them. We would compete to knock them all off before someone else could. We would pick the biggest of them and die dramatically on the snow, icicle firmly lodged in our armpits.


Even now I find uses for them. I feed them to the dog, who delights in throwing them around and chasing them, then settling in for a good, long chew. Knocking them off the edge of the roof still gives the same satisfaction as it did all those years ago.

Winter is often maligned or outright hated. I will admit to disliking winter myself, but when I stop and look for the beauty, even simple icicles bring warm memories that brighten the short and dreary winter days.

Not so long ago, when the world was more agrarian, winter was a time of rest from the long days spent in the fields, coaxing forth the crops that would be next winter's food. Or long days spent in the barn, coaxing forth new life from the farm animals. Now winter is mostly an inconvenience.

How unfortunate that we as a nation, no longer take the time to appreciate winter.

Today I am grateful for the beautiful pattern the sun makes as it passes through an icicle; a tiny little rainbow patch in the snow.

Until next time,