Ice and Sunshine

The middle of the drive back to my house is typically the worst part. I've spent hours in the car already and have hours yet to go. I get achy and bored and think of all the other ways I'd rather spend the time.

Today, however, I noted how absolutely gorgeous it was around me. I started in the gloom of winter. The sky stayed stubbornly gray and the snow piled on the ground looked grimy and icky. I captured a very unhappy Sprout, ran in and out of the house to get water, open the garage door, close the garage door and turn off the last of the lights. It's rather difficult to get out the door without a helpful parent around. And I sighed as I turned right out of my parents' street. Heading back south, I thought with a sigh that was decidedly not eager.

The gloom eventually eased and the land at the side of the road became less wintery and more magical. The trees were gilded with ice that shimmered in the sunlight and I could not have been more awed had I stepped from the wardrobe into Narnia. The sight was unexpected and I was breathlessly distracted by trying to take it all in. The brightness of the pure, white light that bounced off the surface of shiny snow and that tangled in the branches that gleamed with their winter adornments.

"This is perfect," I decided with a smile. The ice had coated everything for miles and miles - I was able to enjoy my glimmering surroundings for over an hour, stopping multiple times to get out and crunch through the ice-covered grass to snap photos. I also took several shots out through the dirty windshield that turned out much better than I hoped. I've cooed over them since they were downloaded upon my arrival home.

I paused The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes - an audiobook that I bought on impulse and haven't listened to in the months that I've had it. But when I finally grew bored and pressed play, I loved it. Best audiobook I've heard in a long, long time, loved it. Watson and Holmes and mysteries and logical deductions. It was fantastic.

The problem, of course, is that beauty seems to come with a price. The ice was falling with musical crashes and thumps as the dog and I peered into the trees, taking a break from English accents and Holmes's acute senses to sacrifice making good time for getting closer to the forests made magical by a winter storm. But even as the ice released its grip, many trees were bowed against the weight. They dipped low to the ground, some branches separating from their trunks to lie upon the ground. I felt badly for them even as I sighed over how exquisite it all looked.

I sighed again as I continued my southerly travel, realizing that it had grown too warm for all the ice and the glistening white had given way to earth tones. I reached the end of the final case in my audiobook as I turned into my neighborhood, filled as it is with browns and greens and nary a speck of white. I pulled into the garage and turned off the car as I waited for the door to close behind me.

"We're home," I told the animals eagerly waiting for me to open the door. And now I'm telling you.