Ice covers the edges of the creek, a frosty blanket for rocks and logs. Shiny smooth in some places, clear as glass in others. Cracks, energized by the sun into glittery arrays, etch the surface. I hadn’t wanted to leave the house this morning, but something called my weary spirit to the trail. Promising myself a mug of tea just for stepping outside, I bundled up in coat, hat, and mittens before walking to the trailhead. I trudged up the trail, and now, standing beside the creek, I’m filled with an untamed urge to break the glassy covering. I want to feel the break. I want to hold the ice. I want to know that I am alive.
That same yearning overtakes me when I see a sparkling field of untouched snow. I need a whole-body experience. Snowflakes melting in my bare hands. Soft powder brushing against my thighs. The profound silence that only nature’s fluffy insulation can provide.
On the bank of the creek, I remove my mittens, reach down to the water, and break off a frozen piece. It snaps from its sheet with a crisp click, solidity and fragility converging in a millisecond of sound. I run my fingers across the cold, flat surface. I bring the shard to my chilled nose and inhale the freshness of winter. Like a scientist, I experience the familiar as something entirely new. I turn the ice over and over in my hands, inspecting it from all angles. How did it get so clear? How did those bubbles form at one edge? Would it taste like an ice cube if I took a quick lick?
As I examine my find, it begins to drip, first onto my fingers, and then into the sleeve of my coat. My fingertips go numb. Flipping the shard from one hand to the other isn’t enough to thaw them. At my feet, the creek trickles beneath thin ice, creating shadowy ghosts playing in a frigid home. Choosing a spot a few feet in front of me, I lob my discovery toward a rock. The glassy fragment tumbles through the air before crashing against stone with a satisfying thumpcrack. Pieces of ice slide into the creek and melt into water.
As I turn back toward the trailhead, my body feels buoyant. Under my boots, snow crunches crisp and clear. Brittle branches jut from trees around the creek. Cold air pierces my nostrils with a faint scent of pine. My fingers tingle in their mittens. These sensations must have been there on my way up, but I remember nothing of the ascent. Now, feeling into the proof of my existence, I spring down the trail, noticing how my body dances with nature. With only a few yards left to go, my mouth begins to water. I can already taste the cinnamon apple tea awaiting me at home.
“ a crisp click, solidity and fragility converging in a millisecond of sound.” What a nice turn of phrase! Thank you for sharing this soothing adventure.
You’re welcome! I appreciate your support. 🙂