It reminds me of the time I spent in the late winter on the creek near our home when I was growing up. As a solitary child who spent much of my time alone, I loved to wander around the woods and in the creek in all seasons, but the creek had a special magic at this time of year. The ice took on amazing shapes; bulbous and flowing, curvascious and bubbly. It (actually, I thought of it as she) engulfed trees, rocks, enbankments, and anything else that stood in its way. This humble creek, really just more of a trickle normally, became a grand place, one that dominated its landscape. For me it was alternatively a skating rink, grand ballrooms, and mystical fantasy lands where all the creatures of my dreams lived. I spent hours twirling and dancing and racing around on its slickness, tracing its patterns, and admiring its beauty. It was one of those special places, hidden in the heart of a little girl, etching its loveliness and naturalness in such a way, that a picture of icy flow sent by a friend some 30 years later can bring tears and remembrance and gratitude.
Thank you God, for icy flow, for winter afternoons playing outdoors, and for warm families to come home to. Thank you for my own little girl who loves the snow, who laughs and twirls on ice, and calls for me "Come on, Mommy!" to join her in the sheer joy of it.