Ice Fingers

Imagine, if you will, a road on a gentle incline. On each side of this road there are drains, whose job is to ensure that water running along the road is collected and transported to a place where it will not make driving hazardous.

Yet one of those drains rebels. Rather than acting as a sinkhole into which water may flow, it disgorges water from deep within its bowels, causing a small puddle to form on the road. The water from that puddle runs down the incline, disappearing into another drain, this one performing the task for which it was designed.

That small puddle causes no difficulties to the passing traffic, which splashes through the surface water as if the puddle weren't there. The water is splashed onto the roadside verge, and there... well, gentle reader, there it gathers on the local flora and freezes. It encapsulates the delicate blades of grass and cocoons them in a cold, hard embrace as the air temperature dives to a shivering -4C

This, dear reader, is the condition in which I found myself this morning on route to my place of employment. The mysteries of the day had barely begun to reveal themselves when...

(cont'd page 94)