Year One (2020)

February - Update

(February 8th, 2020)

So, I'm back at home for the weekend! I got here at around 6:30 last night, and when we pulled in the driveway the moon was so bright I would have thought the sun hadn't set yet. Thankfully the roads weren't too icy, but the trees buckled under the weight of the ice that had coated everything else. We pull in the driveway and admire the beauty of the not-really-darkness. A good meal and a feel-good movie later, and I'm in bed by 10:30. When I woke up this morning, the sun glared into my window as one of the cats attempted to push me out of bed (I was in her spot). It was sometime around 9:00, but the birds were still singing at the sunrise. I am surprised that birds still sing when everything they know is covered in ice. This sort of ice storm really only happens once or twice per year, just when it's a bit too warm for snow in the day, but everything still freezes overnight. As I sit here drinking my coffee and seeing the breathtaking view out in my own back yard- dancing rainbows of light cast through the ice. Now I remember why the storms like this are so odd.

I've never gotten too close to one, but I swear there's something inside its translucent body. They're birds, but birds made of ice? It looks like maybe it's a bird encased in ice. Like there's a cavity inside the crystalline bird that houses another bird without hope of ever gaining control of the crystalline body around it. The cavity inside seems far too small for any bird to survive in, so perhaps the organic bird is dead. Well, that's sort of ignorant of me- to say that just because it looks like the bird isn't made of blood and bone and feather that it's not organic? I am sure these birds have inhabited this area longer than I.

It's a shame, though. I never see the crystalline birds once the snow melts. My guess is that they melt away with it, the light of the sun shining through them wearing away at their own body, while they unwillingly cast dancing rainbows on the canvas of snow below them. That is the nature of life, though, I guess. I just wait for the snow to melt, and the crystalline birds to melt away with them, and for the cycle to start all over again next time.