A Rallying for Ice

I am shamed to admit a creeping fatigue with winter. I went camping in the snow a full week ago, but have not ventured outside since then. My snow pants are giving neglected stares. I wake at night to the sobbing of mukluks.

There is still time left to seek out one of more exotic features of this mild landscape, still time to find water in its hibernatory state, whether it be very temporarily attached to branches on a cold morning or consumed fully for five months along the side of a cliff, as are these bulges and spikes in a canyon of the Willow River.