Posts Tagged ‘ice’

One Word Sunday: weather

For One Word Sunday

Yesterday was one of those beautiful, frost-decorated mornings, although with no wind, it thankfully wasn’t as cold as it this area can be! The weekend had been warm, so the bit of the path that’s paved was clear. The rest was an icy 3-D record of the footprints of every person and animal walking that path before the freeze. Made walking quite a chore as you can imagine, up on the ridges, slip down into the prints, so I tried to stick to the edges where the snow crunched but I didn’t slip and slide.

However, in the low spots of the pavement, the leftover water froze again, doing its bit to beautify my walk.

Looked at from a different angle.


Although the back paths, followed mostly by animals, yielded no animals, I did come across very shallow areas that were water when it was warmer. They were beautiful, but crunchy. I’m sure to any animals in the area it was like a thunder clap.

After two days of frozen beauty, I woke yesterday to almost 40 and all the ice gone. I imagine our neighbor’s tree is quite relieved, although much less sparkly.

© janet m. webb


© janet m. webb


© janet m. webb

Last week I finally got back to the park which, by itself, is a wonderful thing. But the second morning, Nikon in hand and phone in fanny pack, I found myself in a world edged with frost. I staggered from place to place, drunk on beauty, stopping constantly, crouching down, switching cameras, sometimes sitting on the path to get a closer shot…unless I was using my Nikon, in which case, because I had my telephoto, I had to take close-ups from about six feet away. The sun created sparkling, multi-colored diamonds in the grass and my heart was full.

But frost, like the crystallized dreams of autumn, began to coat the clearing with its sugar glaze.”
― Victoria Steele Logue, Redemption

© janet m. webb

I’d never heard of this poem before.  But I came across it while searching for quotes about frost and fell in love with it.

Dream of the Tundra Swan

Dusk fell
and the cold came creeping,
came prickling into our hearts.
As we tucked beaks
into feathers and settled for sleep,
our wings knew.

That night, we dreamed the journey:
ice-blue sky and the yodel of flight,
the sun’s pale wafer,
the crisp drink of clouds.
We dreamed ourselves so far aloft
that the earth curved beneath us
and nothing sang but
a whistling vee of light.

When we woke, we were covered with snow.
We rose in a billow of white.”
― Joyce Sidman, Winter Bees & Other Poems of the Cold

© janet m. webb 2017