I think it was Agatha Christie who stumped me with a story of a body which had been found lying by a puddle of water with no murder weapon to be found. Though I puzzled over this, I couldn’t figure it out.
Today as we walked around our village, we heard a loud crash, almost like thick glass shattering. We turned to see fragments of a large icicle smashed on the ground next to the school. Looking up, we saw clear, sharply pointed, pendant masses hanging menacingly. These icicles were substantial–their girth the size of pop cans. Hung next to each other, they resembled monstrous fangs ready to devastate.
The sun is shining most days. The sun now barely stretches into the sky as we walk to school. It sets well after our bedtime. Somedays we have a taste of “spring.” Drips of melting snow and ice begin to trickle and drop from eaves. Then the temperature falls again. Minus 17 this morning. This step into spring and back creates interesting icicles. The snow drifts are still up against buildings allowing the children easy access to harvest these icy treasures. The icicles have been pouring down our eaves and also have been left as small presents by our young visitors. Sweet.