Millbrook's Cold Fire: Frost Mist Rising

When I saw the forecast over the weekend and learned that the temperature on Tuesday morning was going to be in the single digits for my first day of driving in to the office in the new year, I nearly jumped out of my skin with excitement. There was only one question in my heart and on my lips: Would the frost mist be rising at Millbrook Marsh?

And so when Tuesday morning rolled around, it was about 7 degrees F at our house and I knew what I must do: I must make my quest to see the frost fire, if there was any to be seen. So I bundled up warmly - extra layers, more gloves - and off I went on a tiny adventure.

As I drove into town, I did not see any hoar frost on the trees. Hmm, was my mission going to be a bust? As I came over the hill just below Skytop, the great big yellow sunrise hit me square in the face, nearly blinding me, and I knew the light was going to be amazing: bright and direct and straight-on; the perfect clear, clean light of an outrageously cold winter morning.

With all due haste, I made my way to Millbrook. And as I rounded the corner near the bridge, I saw it for the first time and my heart leapt! There it was! The frost mist was rising and dissipating just as the first rays of sun hit it. Hurry, hurry, hurry; don't want to miss it!

I parked my car and grabbed my camera and keys. My heart was pounding with excitement. Yes, oh yes! These are the moments I live for: these frigid mornings and the cold, ephemeral beauties of my native central Pennsylvania.

The boardwalk cracked beneath my feet like the shots of a rifle and shone with silver sparkles. I was walking, looking, walking. And suddenly, I was in it. It was all around me. I became - once again - a creature of the winter magic. The mist rose, and my heart rose with it, in the golden morning sun.

For people like me, the frost mist rising is one of the most wonderful sights of the year. To be there when it occurs, to see it, to live it, to walk in it, to luxuriate in it: this is my one of my greatest joys. Millbrook with the cold fire of the frost mist rising is indeed my promised land. (Cue: Bruce Springsteen and Clarence Clemons, with Promised Land.)

Bonus: one extra photo of the glorious, golden mist.  :-)

Yes, I believe in the promised land.