1.5.15 Frozen In Time

     Since late fall I have been wandering about the herb garden, as interested in minute changes and adaptations and moments in time as one becomes with one's offspring.

     With the recent freezing rain, there was such muffled suspension of all things, save the clear crisp way in which the train,  through Chicopee and into Northampton, can whoo whoo straight to our house, so few obstructions there are, come winter.

      And despite some reticent melting in mid-afternoon on Sunday, the limbs and snow cover and rose blossoms retained their icy veneer. When you looked closer at each beautiful blossom or bud that had been frozen in time once we had our first killing frost, they are captured in their moment, and now, frozen with the most beautiful thick layer of ice which cracked into innumerable mathematically scripted shapes.

     Of course, as I made my way upon the thick iced snow, I looked closer and closer as I discovered this magic, the flowers dancing in their expressive state. Each petal and stamen and small delicate aspects covered equitably, and kept, asleep and silent as the dusk.