Ice storms are lovely to look at. The shimmering casement they provide to everything they touch transforms the ground into a glistening landscape.
A crunch accompanies each step across the snow. Frozen remnants move effortlessly over the skim, making crinkly sounds along their paths. Everything now seems black-and-white.
The birds are having a tough time hanging onto their slippery perches, resting from foraging. One of the feeders is so weighed down with ice that the opening for seeds is closed.
The beauty is unmistakable. To a point. Increasing thickness of ice is accompanied by snapping branches landing with a thud. Smaller pieces are separated from their trees, hitting the ground and sliding down over glazed rocks. With increasing ice, comes larger and more threatening cracks. And a bit of fear. Lights blink. Power goes off for a moment. Another log goes into the fire. And I stare outside, watching and waiting.
