Icescapes

I was spellbound. And, like it often happens nowadays, I deeply regretted not bringing my little digital camera with me in the car.

Driving up this morning to my college on the hill, the day was one of those rainy, cold, miserable Ohio ones that make me want to rage against the coming of winter, especially when official winter isn't even here yet.

But that all changed as I drove into the northern county where my college sits atop a considerable hill (considerable when you're going down it on a bicycle, as I've done, or coming up it jogging, as my husband has). The snow belt of Ohio, my husband calls that county.

As my car twisted and turned through the back roads that lead to my small college, I noticed something odd on the denuded trees. They all radiated white in the gray of day.

Slowly, I realized that their limbs and branches were encased in fine layers of ice, like frozen tears that transformed the homely leaf-less trees into a jewels without sparkle. I was entranced, like the time my husband took me to see the Christmas lights display at a 3,000-acre resort in West Virginia. I oohed and ahhed like I was 5 again. My husband, who claims he was born old, was largely unimpressed.

Driving through farm country today, even the barb wire on the fences shimmered encased in ice, which gave everything an other-worldly, ghostly look. I was spellbound at its beauty and I hope never to forget the sight.

Still, if I'd had my camera with me (like Dr. S used to do all the time as she drove up and down the same and other country roads) you'd be able to share the wonder. For now, you'll just have to imagine.