Ice

Daddy pulled down a very long icicle this morning. Jonathan tried to set it gently onto the concrete, but it broke as he did so. Disaster. Tears.

Glue it back, Daddy.

It doesn't glue, Jonathan.

Weeping. Wailing. A heap of hopeless sadness on the driveway. The icicle is broken. Forever.

We poked the pieces into the snow around the driveway and made an ice fence, and soon all was well again.

There's an email forward that I see every now and then about happiness. It points out during a typical day, young children laugh many many more times than adults. Therefore adults should try harder to laugh. My rebuttal, which I never email back, is that children cry many many more times than adults as well. I don't hear any calls for adults to cry more.

I cry too, though, when things I love break forever.


During the day the snow begins to melt. Overnight it freezes again into sheets of ice. In the afternoon, the ice melts first against the pavement, leaving a shelf of unmelted ice above it. I love to step onto this ice shelf, to break it. I love the solid thwack sound of thick ice cracking under my weight. I like to see the cracks shoot out around my shoes. I like to kick the pieces of cracked ice into the road and watch them melt in the sun.

Jonathan likes cracking ice as well. He walked back from the grocery store with me this afternoon, whining a bit that we didn't have the car, kicking at the ice shelves. We decided it was finally dry enough to get out the scooter Jonathan got for Christmas. He rode in circles around the nearby church parking lot while I walked along the edge, cracking ice with my feet.

The more I crack, the faster it will melt. The faster it melts, the sooner it will be spring. The sooner it will be spring, the faster the ice will melt. I try to do a little bit each day to bring back the spring.

You are very welcome.