It is 6 a.m. and raining hard here in Mass. It is cold enough that all the trees and even the lawns are coated with ice. It looks like a crystal palace world, but there is a dangerous downside. Everywhere are branches and twigs, snapped off the trees by the enormous weight of the ice. Outside a few minutes ago with my dog, I listened to loud cracks as huge limbs tore away and then crashed to the ground. Inside now and cozy, in the early morning dark and calm, I can still hear those cracking sounds in the woods that fringe my yard. I hold my breath each time, hoping that a tree will not fall close enough to crush my little house.
Later, I will take my camera and try to capture the beauty of the crystalline world. That beauty can be made more intense when accompanied by a true sense of danger is a very interesting idea. Most of the time, danger is an abstract in the buttoned-down lives we live. It is experienced vicariously in novels or TV dramas. Most days I experience nothing more dangerous than the potential for a paper cut.
For now, I will continue listening to the insistent chatter of the icy rain and the low whirling howl of the wind, and to the sharp and tearing cracks of falling trees and heavy limbs. I'm safe and warm and dry, for now.
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