My 12-year-old went wild with the row of tiny icicles along our roof. They’re back! It takes me a moment to figure out what she’s saying. When I do, I jam on my boots, step out, and reach up for two tiny sticks of ice.
Inside our sunny kitchen, I offer her the icicles. She shares them with her kitten. The ice melts quickly – it disappears to wet fur, and then that’s all.
The kitten wraps his paws in stray yarn. Our day moves along. First sprinkles of snow: beautiful.
What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.
– John Steinbeck