Slippery Slopes

[rolanni]

Rain overnight and temps just at freezing produced a dipped-in-crystal landscape for the morning. We had a couple of oh-oh moments at breakfast, when the power flickered, visions of the Great Ice Storm of '98 dancing in fond memory. Fortunately, the temps are climbing slowly, and the ice is starting to melt. Here's hoping that the melt is quick enough to prevent a cable snapping, or a tree limb going down on the wires. It's relatively calm, so maybe we'll be lucky.

Scrabble is prowling the house, tracking the sounds of the ice slipping off the roof. She's convinced it's Things in the walls. I keep trying to tell her that the Things are in the mirror and in the circle and in the steamer trunk, but I don't think she believes me.

Got a bad case of the no-sun blues, which combined with the standard issue Winter Writer's Funk is not a Happy Place to be at all, at all. If this keeps up, by ghod, I'm getting me a full-spectrum light box. Right after I figure out where I left the trust fund.

Got some of the chores on the day list done. Two more to go, then lunch, then writing.

Comments

[malkingrey.livejournal.com]

We had a couple of oh-oh moments at breakfast, when the power flickered, visions of the Great Ice Storm of '98 dancing in fond memory.

That was a bad one, that storm . . . around here, they were still hauling the dead timber out of the woods a couple of years later. What I remember most vividly about it is how in the aftermath, when the wind stirred the ice-coated tree branches, they made a sound like fingerbones rattling together.