It is warmer today, and there is melting. All around me there is a rush of water, the constant sound of life being unearthed as droplets race down the still-icy tree trunks.
An icicle crashes to the sidewalk in front of me, shards scattering across the concrete. This should scare me more than it does. I have been avoiding walking underneath trees all day—not because death scares me, but I’d rather not have it happen just yet.
The trees have no say. Their branches fall one by one, severed at almost Satanic angles. There is the initial crack, then the soft release as the branch comes to rest in a drift of snow.
It is a symphony: the attack, the release. Over and over again it plays. Not…yet. Not…yet.
The melting ice plops ungracefully onto my head. Drip, drip, drip. Another song, not quite so refined. I am unharmed.
The anguish of the trees is beautiful.
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