One Below

I stepped outside this early morning to walk Oakley to the bus stop. Aaron had taken the car to work, so we were left to walk the half mile out to the road. We bundled up and set out. We made it down through the “wood” and past the frozen spring (a good 20 yards) before the cold became painful. As we emerged from the trees, I looked up and west. The Blacksmith Fork River (about 30 yards away) was shrouded in a light fog that swirled like the waters beneath it. The trees and bushes lining the river were decorated in a frozen fog, sparkling white. The limbs that touched the water had become cased in ice and the cold, dark waters of the river tumbled over and through them the way wind blows through a wind chime…even quietly tinkling. Though the scene at the river was delightfully enchanting, it was what framed the scene that took the breath away. Far to the west and above the frosted tree tops, the Wellsvilles glistened in a snowy, pink-gold light. The sunrise made the grand, snowy peaks look warm and even soft. The land all around the Wellsvilles was still in early morning gray, no sun yet touched the valley. Oakley and I headed for the bridge, and found the snow, though a week old, as fine, soft, powdery, and squeaky as when it first fell. It has not warmed up enough to get close to melting. After seeing Oakley safely on the bus, I turned toward home and began jogging. My nose and mouth were covered with my fuzzy fleece scarf, and eventually became wet with condensation, so I pulled it down to expose my mouth to the cold winter air. My eyelashes immediately froze. I had to stop running and pry them apart. Have you ever had your eyelashes freeze from your own moist breath? It was only –1 degrees. As soon as I got home and closed the door behind me, my eyelashes promptly melted. And I thought to myself, “I am so grateful to still be alive and have the opportunity of having my eyelashes freeze. How utterly delightful!”