Morning Thanks

Garrison Keillor once said we'd all be better off if we all started the day by giving thanks for just one thing. I'll try.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

The Iceman Cometh

Our neighbor, who's lived here his whole life, says it's a phenomenon that's never happened before in all his years and he's had 60 of them.  An inch-and-a-half of rain fell on a frozen river a week ago, melting things apace--well, not apace but so swiftly the flow got profuse for a while and in the process broke up mammoth chunks of frozen river, carrying them along until it belched them up on the banks, huge chunks, some of them a ton more more, icebergs.  

I swear, last summer, you could have walked across the Floyd and not wet a knee.  But all of a sudden the river is one grand, icy mess, wearing a huge dirty collar of ice chunks and all kinds of refuse, even an tractor-tube from who knows where.  

The Floyd River isn't what anyone would call sweet right now, but if it dresses up like a hobo only once-in-fifty-years you gotta take in the show.  

Strange.  Remarkable.  Amazing, really.  Weird, even goofy.  Stunning, in its own odd way. 

The iceman cometh.

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