Breaking Ice.

On a midday walk around the lake, I hear bits of breaking-up ice crash against a cement pier. Vermont spring — ice and green shoots, rain and rouge snow and sometimes sun.

This time of year — school break and tail-end-of-winter doldrums — many folks have flown to warmer and sunnier climates, seeking the old stand-by of the geographical cure. Around the lakes where summer folks own the large houses, hardly anyone is there, save for carpenters and roofers and painters, their pickup trucks clustered in driveways.

But the lake keeps on with its own steady world, the fierce ice gradually giving up its ghost. By the time these summer folks return, the water will have warmed again. For now, though, ice clinks as it breaks apart.

I tie my long hair back with a rubber band I found in my coat pocket. The breeze carries the damp scent of the earth, the dream of unfurling leaves, the memory of children crouched among the cedar tree roots, playing.

“The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day.”

~ Robert Frost

2 thoughts on “Breaking Ice.

  1. I just have to ask (because I am a word nerd:) – what is “rain and rouge snow”? Perhaps it is really “rogue” snow? Maybe your writing program has AUI, artificial UNintelligence, like mine! The other day one of your posts was titled “Wildflowers. String.” I looked hard, but saw no reference to string, so deduced it was supposed to be “Spring”. True?
    I love the sound of the ice breaking up- churning & clinking, sometimes moaning, icy shards & blocks.
    Love your last sentence: ‘The breeze carries the damp scent of the earth, the dream of unfurling leaves, the memory of children crouched among the cedar tree roots, playing.’ That does invoke memories…

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