For those not living near me in Boston it is difficult to convey how treacherous and unprecidented the snowfall has been this winter. We are well past the denial phase, having accepted our new way of life tunneling around town between mountains of brown icebergs. Yet, here at the beginning of March (March is always a tease) it seems unbelievable there might still be snow up in the heavens left to fall, yet snowflakes fill the air even as I write this. There is seemingly no beauty left in the sparkling crystals; they just add one more layer to the ice walls defining our very existence.
This enormous amount of snow continues to wreak havoc on buildings and municipal systems, but amidst the calamity there have been moments of beauty and wonder in this '"Snowmageddon 2015". The natural process of melting/freezing/melting creates a wonderland of icicles, many of which have stopped me dead in my tracks.
I may be among a privelidged few who witnessed the sight pictured above: I was driving along the road near my family home up in rural Vermont when I came across what appeared to be a leak in some sort of underground pipe, which obviously contained hot water. The water was spurting out of the top and spraying down, creating layers upon layers of ice as it froze in the cold air. The whole sight, along with the antique farm equipment struck me as surreal, particularly since no one was anywhere nearby to see it with me. There was not a single person on the road, nor at the homes nearby. No one was with me to witness this incredible, awe-inspiring improvised ice sculpture. It could have been a tourist attraction. It should have been covered with kids playing on the snow-covered mound, breaking off chips of the ice which had formed frozen waves of beauty, capturing the gleaming sunset. But there was not even one footprint disturbing the perfect, natural layers of snow and ice, and so on and on it continued, with just a couple of small spurts of water visible at the top. I was the only one I know who got to see this amazing sight, and it will be one that I always remember from this winter. I am grateful.