Ice and arse…

Snow and ice, they have the power to transform everything, make everything look beautiful, make even the safest places dangerous.

I walked out of the front door this morning and found the world transformed. The snow, still there, had frozen overnight and everything sparkled with crisp ice crystals. Our porch post, normally a plain gloss black had transformed into a lace work of ice, intricate patterned crystalline tracks covering its reflective surface.

The path shimmered, a blue-black ice river. I slid towards the gate and along the slippery road, icicles hung, bumper to road from cars parked on the glassy kerbside. It was cold, deeply cold.

And across in the park every thistle, twig, and stem glittered with icy diamonds fit to fashion into a crown for the ice queen herself. No sign of the cold letting up, no sign of the cold snap thawing, she’ll be around a while yet.

I bow to the brilliance of her creativity – and slip and fall on my arse. She got me again.