Morning Ice

 

I was out earlier than usual today, at about 7:30. Another night of cold temperatures crystalized the river further.  A visitor to Woodstock stopped on the bridge and asked me how long the river had been frozen.  I don't think he was prepared for the description of how you could trace each day's cold by the various curves and shades of white and grey that now stretch from bank to bank. It has been as if each cold night has laid down a brush stroke, each distinct from, yet connected to the next.  Looking at recent posts, you will see the lines, shapes and intensities on view today as they have grown.  A brief, intense history to be altered again, and maybe even erased by next week's forecasted warmth.

Movement Frozen