An Ode To Winter

Roof Flavored Icicles

Nothing quite as numbing as the dead of winter in the dead of night. The snow's been slowly melting for days, forming ice dams in the gutters and downspouts that feed the perilous icicles that hang from, what seem to be, precarious heights. What we can reach, we knock down. Human nature dictates that we do so, in all things. The fallen ice explodes like shattering glass, catching light in impossible ways. Then, the boredom of winter continues to slouch toward entropy.