Whew, this holiday alphabet thing is starting to wear me out.
I live in a region where ice is in abundance during the winter months. Black ice, especially, is not your friend. I remember coming out of the dorm one year at college, just in time to witness my friend, Kari, attempting to crawl up the slope of the parking lot while our other friend, Ryn, laughed and laughed. I kept walking, wondering at this behavior, and the next thing I knew, I was staring at the sky. My feet had gone out from under me like a freakish cartoon character. So that’s why Kari was crawling: black ice. Now, Ryn had double the laughs.
Icicles are another area of fascination for me, and my parents’ house gets plenty of them. I love knocking them down, hearing the fragile shatter as they hit the pavement. I love to try and break off the huge icicles in one piece, turn them over in my hands and inspect the layers that have formed. Then, I break those. I loved doing this when I was little, and I love doing it now.
You have to really love winter in the northern Midwest, with its ice, sleet, snow, high winds, and frigid temperatures, or you’ll want to impale yourself on one of those icicles.