Winter’s Last Gasp

The cracking of the roof ice first sounded like squirrels in the attic. My cat was looking up at the ceiling as I grabbed a jacket to do battle on my porch.

A little bundle of roof fur was not to be found but the 2 inches of ice that had formed on the snow was cracking and slipping in the warming temperatures. We had finally reached 31 degrees after a long weekend of icy seclusion. The cedar released daggers of icy spikes, raining down on the glistening berms that edged my snow bound driveway. I stayed under the eaves of the covered porch just out of reach of the missiles, just south of the startled murder of crows that exploded into the sky.

The sun did not stay out very long, perhaps an hour. Our weak NW eyes, sheltered for months by a blanket of clouds, narrowed and watered. Tomorrow I’m making a break for it!