Ice indeed

I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that it’s been cold lately. That, coupled with a measurable snowfall, reminds me that winter can be fierce and beautiful in its own monochromatic way. It’s been cold a bit like the cold I remember from my winters in New Hampshire – when I come in after a bout of outdoors, there’s baby icicles in my mustache and beard.

There is a lot to look at in the cold, if you can slow down and look at it. I’ve been particularly attracted to ice, especially on Bussey Brook (which, miraculously, is flowing). The streambed looks like an assemblage of leaves and rocks and roots and ice. And if you take the time to explore, there are some interesting unplanned compositions there.

I find myself looking at the natural world more lately, perhaps as an attempt to find take respite from our fractious, indeed terrifying national monologue. I know that the cold will give way to rebirth and that’s a comfort. But I know there’s no quick uplifting coda to what we face as a nation. Perhaps I can take some sustenance from the natural world to prepare myself for the challenges ahead.