Four days off work can set the mind to spinning, and one of the best ways to let it wander is to watch icicles as they drip and grow. Like the waves of the ocean they offer constant movement, but it is a quiet motion.
Some of the icicles are smooth and others striated. The ribbed ones glitter more brightly in the sun. I soon develop favorites. My eyes are first drawn to the largest icicle, the showoff, but to its right is a more demure pair, whose beauty now is purely positional – they are the best poised to reflect the sun. I’m also partial to the newest ones, the babies, slender and new and full of possibility.
As I stare out the window and ponder the nature of the icicle, Tom worries about our roof. Why do we have more icicles than our neighbors have, he worries. I remind him that we’ve had them before. We talk about ice dams and structural integrity and all that sort of stuff. Then he walks out of the room, and I’m back to musing. The icicle is a vertical feature in a horizontal world. It’s a way to enjoy winter without leaving the house. As I’ve been writing, the sun has climbed higher in the sky. Now all the icicles are glittering.