Ice growing thicker upon Lost Trail Creek
The thermometer hung on the naked aspen tree outside the office window in the light of the big moon this morning reads -11. The cold has just begun. The season of ice is upon us, blooming in its freezing flows, languid layers of solid waters, thicker and broader and deeper each day as the snow continues to elude us, circumventing this side of the Divide with each broken promise of a storm. We wait. The ice thickens, the frost deepens. We check the faucet each morning and are grateful as water flows. Five feet deep, at the most shallow spot, our lines are buried. The race is on between the deepening frost and the insulative blankets of snow we are waiting for.
I am enthralled with the ice. I watch it swell and spread across the creeks and washes and river each day. I listen to its eerie wail as it buckles against the warmer waters beneath its calloused surface. It is different this year. It is different every year.
Yesterday, Forrest wrote, “Perhaps we should strive to be like that reservoir; only effected by the elements on the surface, while the core remains intact, undisturbed, and calm. Just a thought…”
And I thought about it.
He is right. I yearn for that calm. Calm like the reservoir beneath the cracking forming ice. Calm like the still and frigid air above that ice which covers the expanse of the wild river. The ice is a barrier, unbreakable and impenetrable, armor for the soul.
Yet inside I feel a fire burning. It is faint with the burden of the cold. Pain and anger and passion and longing. And fear. Some things do not freeze. They do not go away. They turn slow and sluggish in the bitter air, turning dormant at times like the burrowed beast in the frozen ground. We learn to control, suppress, chill, stay cool. A precarious balance between the inner flames and outer appearance. We learn to cool the fire. I suppose it is the only way to find peace within. We long to be serene like the still water in the great expanse of the lake beneath the ice, and yet still filled with hopes and dreams.
Do we give up our dreams? Never. Only with them can we glide upon the slick surface. And dance under the light of the moon.
On thin ice we walk over turbulent waters. It is thicker every day. We learn to trust the frozen waters. They will hold us up. We hope.
