The big snow lasted on the ground well over a week here at the farm, and when it began in earnest to depart, a fair amount of it exited by way of our creek. Just a day after I visited its snow-covered banks, the creek had taken on a wholly different character:
Glade Creek, which flows through our farm, is a year-round delight, endlessly surprising, constantly teaching me new things, occasionally reinventing itself during heavy rains.
But on those winter mornings when the creek freezes along its banks and against its rocks, and those even colder ones when the ice extends its reach toward and sometimes past midstream, the creek seems to become even richer.
Ice, water, light, and shadow come together, making morning magic.
I could stand and watch their interplay forever, but ice on a flowing creek isn't a forever thing.