Morning Light on Water, with Frost Mist Rising

I dreamed a dream of ice and fire.

It was another day with a very, very cold start. At about 10 degrees F, it wasn't quite as chilly as the day before. But when morning came, there was hoar frost everywhere! The treetops were white with it, and so I seized the day, and went on another tiny ultra-cold winter adventure.

This time, I drove along Spring Creek. I stopped by the rusty bridge and took lots of photos of the frost crystals along the creek. Every tree was covered in them. They sparkled and shone as the light hit.

And then I got back in my car, and I knew I'd be making at least one more stop. And I also knew that if I turned the heater on, it would steam up my camera lens, and the camera would be useless to me, at least for a few minutes.

So I put all the windows down in the car and drove that way: with the air inside as cold as the air outside, I figured there was little danger of condensation on the lens. It felt bizarre, though, driving like a maniac with the windows down and the music blasting on one of the coldest days of the year.

It wasn't my imagination that little bits of hoar frost were falling, falling. And they sent white frosty bits like snowflakes into the car, swirling around me in the cold. The thought of how ridiculous I was (and still am) tickled me, and I laughed out loud.

And then I made my second stop, along a favorite bend in the creek. There is just one tiny place to park along the shoulder of the road, and I snagged the spot quickly, and then I strolled down along Spring Creek.

Every weed and branch and twig was covered in white hoar frost, and frost mist was rising and moving on the surface of the water, like a living thing. The morning light was just beginning to hit, and it lit the frost mist with pale golden fire.

I dreamed a dream of fire and ice.

The soundtrack: Pat Benatar, with Fire and Ice.