The cold is brutal. It started as I returned from Iceland, and has been roughly at that level since.
As if I brought it home with me. The souvenir I didn’t want.
Out back, the pond is too small for ice skating but I suspect it is frozen thick enough that I could walk on it if I tried.
I can tell that the waterfall is still flowing, though it appears solid to the casual observer – the net laid belatedly amid the never-ending deck project, meant to keep out falling leaves, formed a frame for water — starting by trapping the splash of cast-off, now a thick frozen outer level under which the waterfall still falls, at least for now.
It’s most apparent that the pond-pump still presses on in the cold with the light on at night- a suffused glow under the white of ice, and the light softly shifting under the layers of ice as the water does.
It’s vaguely otherworldly to watch.
And so it will be, provided it doesn’t freeze solid (please God) until we get a brief respite from cold. Maybe even next week, we could (briefly) see temps above freezing.
There is much that’s beautiful about winter, but I do miss light and warmth.