Dear Ruthi,

It is said a picture paints a thousand words but I need a thousand words to paint that picture. The one from yesterday. The one for “In Between.” You asked if I might have a photo to go with your letter and I chose that one. It’s odd. Definitely. It doesn’t really say what it is. It appears as though it’s upside down. The thing is, it is exactly the place in between. And it was oh so thin. So perfect. So mysterious. 

Yesterday afternoon, E&C and I went out to Snyder’s Flats in desperate need of sunshine, fresh air, movement and a change of scenery. We needed an attitude adjustment. All of which we found. 

For the first time in our exploring there, we turned toward the south lake. It wasn’t long before we found an ice field. I’ve never seen anything like it. There was a thin layer of ice with a dusting of snow suspended and embedded between branches and grass hanging two to three feet off the ground. Fragile. Expansive. Beautiful. Tempting. E&C has so much fun smashing through it. Like breaking glass. 


Awe and wonder.

My best guess is that we were on a floodplain. The area filled with water this past week in the thaw as the Grand swelled beyond its banks, and joined with the south lake pushing water into this field. As the temperature dropped to seasonal norms, ice formed on the surface and the water below drained away. Left behind was this work of art. This new middle ground. This new tension. We just happened to come by at the right moment. The temperatures remained low and the ground froze so that we were walking on frozen clumps of grass rather than a murky wetland. Winds were fairly low since the freeze and the area was sheltered so that the movement of the grass and branches didn’t break the ice. Nor did it snow heavily and force the ice to the ground.

Oh how I love that the river was overwhelmed – spilling and making a mess. Only to leave behind a beautiful work of art in its wake.

Sure a path is made by walking. How fun to make one dancing. Sometimes the path is made by pressure. Sometimes breaking. 


I too am reminded of the beauty and fragility of connection – these fierce and tenuous strands that bind us together. A luminous web. A silver strand. The art and science of water and ice. It was so beautiful. That in between. 

With love and gratitude,


PS Although bed calls, I’m off to listen to what I missed this morning…


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