I love Winter [and Spring, Summer, and Fall]. I like rain, frost, sun, green, gray and blue. I either love the cold, the hot, the leaves, the dew that instant , or I long for the next season to start. Living with a little river is experiencing the seasons in a new way. A way I never have. I already long for the green buds to appear on the willows, as I see my breath freeze in the air while ice crunches beneath my feet. The river has a life of it's own.
And now the river is cold. Cold and icy. White-blue. Ice comes in many forms...cloudy, clear, crystalline and cracked. Solid enough to hold me in parts, in others weak so that I hear it beneath the snow. Not loud, not soft. A sound that is only one thing. How many sounds does water make?