Meteorologists correctly predicted an ice storm to sweep across the Midwest. At first glance it doesn’t seem all that terrible outside. I mean, it’s been raining for awhile but the temps aren’t even very cold. But when the dog goes out and slips and slides his way to the crunchy grass for a potty break, yeah, you know not to attempt an outdoor excursion.
The ice is beautiful and cruel. It hangs from every knob of every tree branch, it evenly coats each blade of grass, it cascades down each frozen bit of concrete—stairs and driveways and sidewalks turn into paths of treachery. I long to move closer to the ice, to photograph it in a way it deserves, and yet… one false move with my slippered feet would end up in some sort of disaster. Years of rheumatoid arthritis have turned a simple fall into a huge cause for concern. I’m an elderly 39 year old. :)
So from inside my cozy warm home—and maybe with one step out under the covered patio—I admire the deceitful beauty outside our doors. I praise God for my husband’s office just down the hall from my own. I am grateful for this day off of school so Livia and I can lounge and dream and read and play a bit more. Happy ice day, my friends! Be safe.