Slick and black under snow-covered streets. Dangling precariously from countless eves.
Glittering on every branch, on every trunk of every tree.
And the sound.
With each gust -- each movement of those ice-covered limbs -- comes an unexpected, vaguely familiar sound.
"Snap, crackle, pop..."
Exactly like Rice Krispies.
(A very big bowl of Rice Krispies.)
The storm that brought all of this ice hit early Sunday morning-- hard sleet for many hours, before changing over to snow.
We lost power for 12 of those hours.
Doesn't sound like much fun, now does it?
Well, for a while there-- it wasn't.
Until I found a neighbor with a working refrigerator.
A place for Joseph's insulin.
After that, the whole thing was as an adventure.
We read by candlelight-- and listened to Barack Obama's voice coming from a tiny yellow radio.
We sat by the fire and watched logs burn a bit faster than we'd like.
Using every blanket in the house, we camped out in the living room-- and hoped the power would return before morning.
Thankfully, it did.
But the ice that brought down power lines across our city never left.
Because -- despite a glorious amount of sunshine and blue skies -- there's been no melting.
Yesterday, I walked into the kitchen and found Evan sitting Indian-style in the middle of the floor-- staring wide-eyed and silent at the window over the sink.
I crouched down beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder.
"What are you doing, Honey?"
"Mama," she said dreamily -- eyes never leaving that window --
"the tree... it's so sparkly... it's beautiful... "
I sat down next to her, held her hand-- and looked, too.
"It sure is, Honey."
Thursday, February 21, 2008