Dangerous Beauty
Me: "Look outside. Everything's silver. Isn't it pretty?"
Mom: "Ugh. No."
"What? Why?"
"It's dangerous. It's destructive beauty. mumble: Just like a woman."
laughter "Wh-what? Did you say 'Like a woman'?"
beat "Yes."
"So, what. Helen of Troy weather?"
"Yes. Yes, that's it, exactly."
* * * * *
The sun is out. The sky is a deep blue with thin white clouds speeding across. The ice on the trees and bushes is shimmering madly. It's blindingly bright outside, so, naturally, I spent an hour outside taking pictures with my mom's Nikon Cool Pix 2500. I went back inside, briefly, to tell Mom to wake up before the merecurial-tempered weather decided to change again and I could barely see. Everything was blanked out because of the temporary damage I did to my cones by staring at the millions of tiny, brilliant suns reflected at me from every tree branch and the white ice on the ground.
The sun is warm, melting the ice bit by bit in spite of the freezing temperature (oh! so cold!), so that there is a constant crackle-shush of ice falling from the tree tops stories above. There are fallen branches everywhere. Large ones. Ones of a size which, when landing, could do serious damage to a car or roof. I don't think anything has landed on our roof yet. Both my car and Dad's, which are parked in the driveway, are covered by a protective coating of ice but nothing has tested the effectiveness of the ice-armor yet. The branches land in large, shattered pieces, and the leaf buds on them are (were, now) about to open. I've a feeling our spring is not going to be very lush. Mom is very upset that this ice hit when her roses were beginning to bud.
"They're ruined," she says. "I'll never get any roses now."
Mom: "Ugh. No."
"What? Why?"
"It's dangerous. It's destructive beauty. mumble: Just like a woman."
laughter "Wh-what? Did you say 'Like a woman'?"
beat "Yes."
"So, what. Helen of Troy weather?"
"Yes. Yes, that's it, exactly."
The sun is out. The sky is a deep blue with thin white clouds speeding across. The ice on the trees and bushes is shimmering madly. It's blindingly bright outside, so, naturally, I spent an hour outside taking pictures with my mom's Nikon Cool Pix 2500. I went back inside, briefly, to tell Mom to wake up before the merecurial-tempered weather decided to change again and I could barely see. Everything was blanked out because of the temporary damage I did to my cones by staring at the millions of tiny, brilliant suns reflected at me from every tree branch and the white ice on the ground.
The sun is warm, melting the ice bit by bit in spite of the freezing temperature (oh! so cold!), so that there is a constant crackle-shush of ice falling from the tree tops stories above. There are fallen branches everywhere. Large ones. Ones of a size which, when landing, could do serious damage to a car or roof. I don't think anything has landed on our roof yet. Both my car and Dad's, which are parked in the driveway, are covered by a protective coating of ice but nothing has tested the effectiveness of the ice-armor yet. The branches land in large, shattered pieces, and the leaf buds on them are (were, now) about to open. I've a feeling our spring is not going to be very lush. Mom is very upset that this ice hit when her roses were beginning to bud.
"They're ruined," she says. "I'll never get any roses now."
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