Q-104: In the Bleak Mid-Winter.... or Something Like that

Well it's happened… … and as you surfed through other people’s photos you always hoped that it would. You fell in love with the way light reflects off an icicle, you envied the capture of a leaf encased in glass on a mid-December morning. And now it's finally happened. Of course, it's the end of January... and you live in Texas, but nonetheless! The unthinkable has occurred.


An ice storm. For the second day in a row you have texted in that you won't be fighting your way to work this morning (because although you're sure you'd be fine driving... the rest of the state has no clue what to do), and instead of going back to bed like you did yesterday... you go to your closet and pull on a second pair of super-comfy pants. You snag your fluffy fuzzy super-warm socks and lace up your thickest shoes-- the ones with the good tread for better traction. You shed your sleeping camisole in favor of 2 long sleeve shirts, a short sleeve shirt with a hood, and a warm wooly sweater. You don a $1.99 skull-cap that you bought at Wal-Mart back when you lived in a state where it DID get cold on a regular basis, and you top the whole look off with bright purple grip gloves. You trundle out to the living room and start to collect your camera. The Godmother, home on a miracle of DISD genius (hey, Hinajosa has to get SOMETHING right once in a while- Even if it is just cancelling school for an ice-day), grumbles at you as you let in a blast of cold air, and then you're gone-- hunting around the front yard for the perfect composition and thinking perhaps a second pair of socks might have been in order as well. You gingerly test the steps, and nearly obliterate your first perfect winter picture....

But your caution saves you and you move into the yard, scoping out icicles on the roof, on the railing, on the bushes, on the recycling bin... even in the wheel well of your 23 year old van.



The world is encased in a glaze of ice, life frozen in an eternity of cold. Or at least, it feels like it. You thank your lucky stars you're not in Chicago, or Massachusetts, or New York-- where it's REALLY cold. You won't have to dig your car out of the snow--- just chip off some ice... or maybe just let it melt. After all, it's not liking you're going anywhere on the skating rink that you call a street. You pause to get close to the berry plant by the fence, amazed at the perfect encapsulation of leaves and twigs.



You peek into the backyard and realize there's even more to see back there. The sheds that usually keep the dogs dry and out of the rain are covered in rows of icicles,



the deck crusted with ice so solid that even with your large frame and heavy step-- you leave no footprints behind you.



The dogs’ outdoor water dishes are frozen solid-- one even bearing the evidence of a once-drippy faucet left to overflow in the storm.



The backyard is a wonderland of watery crystal and you find leaf after leaf dangling-- frozen drips that didn't quite melt hung suspended in the strengthening sunlight.



You move to the side yard, staring at the flip side of the berry plant you discovered earlier, marveling at the perfect stillness that is this world en glace. A numbness in your fingers reminds you that those gloves don't hold as much warmth once they've met the cool of melting ice, and as you head back inside you catch one of the outdoor cats traipsing behind Abby the dog-- her kitty shadow.



Even as the sun warms the sky, the ice on the deck stays crisp and neither animal leaves signs of its presence-- aside from the long shadows cast in the morning glare. You move into the warmth of the kitchen, upload photos, do some editing. You talk with the Godmother as she stirs-- grateful for the extra hour of sleep granted by the icy weather. As you transfer files you make some breakfast-- grilled egg and cheese sandwiches-- perfect icy weather food. By the time you're done eating and all the morning chores are completed the thaw has begun. Only in pieces and not at all in the shady bits-- but now there are paw prints on the deck-- and footprints in the yard. Some of the dog's water dishes have started to thaw and crack, leaving tiny icebergs afloat in seas of tin. You and the godmother laugh as you shoot the large bird-bath plastic dish-- a waxing moon of 1/2 inch thick ice.



Inside you bundle up again, watch a movie, take a break. You play with the dog, snuggle with the cats and catch up on some sleep. And now it's 3pm and you go outside-- to check on the miraculous thaw... The cars are mostly melted now, and the street looks once again like blacktop. Houses are losing their icicles, and the ice on top of the recycling bin shows dark patches where it has finally melted into water below an ever thinning layer of freeze. The well shaded bushes though are still a gleaming testament to the late night cold-- tiny leafy buds still coated in a sheet of glass waiting for the temperature to be released.



A stray leaf still carries the sheen of an almost melted perfection, stem and body magnified by the frozen water.


All in all the ice has moved onto to another town, another county, another state. And as cold winds and wintry weather make a job of another area, we only hope the Sun will do as well here- before the dark sets in again and still low temperatures drop lower. After all... this was the day for you the photographer-- but tomorrow there will be 2 days of real work piled up and waiting for you to tackle, the kind of work that brings in a paycheck, which allows you to spend your ice-days wandering the yard with a camera catching winter at it's most surprising and most beautiful.