I am reminded that winter is all but done. Four blocks away the neighbours are watching their crocuses appear but I still have lumps of snow here and that’s okay with me. Winter has silence and a clean sparkle about it, it has hibernation and introspection that’s difficult to find in the burst of Spring, the busy of Summer and the melancholy of Autumn.
There were lots of icicles this year. I’m going to by-pass the thought that it’s because I have questionable insulation and go straight for what a delight all of them were.They’re one of my favourite visuals in the becoming of water, likely next to the vision of untouched rolling moguls of snow on high mountain open fields at midnight with a full moon shining down. Now that’s a precious sight.
And then there’s this, the human-made as almost reflecting the wild-made but not quite. These winter sights are the things that few get to see here unless of course it’s a precious fireside chat and cup of tea type visit. It’s almost always an exchange of ideas and a sorting through of next steps or pulling at a string or two to unravel what’s underneath. It all gets put on the table one way or another.