It’s amazing the things you see if you’re open to them, to the possibilities around us at any given time.
Hubby and I took a drive through northern Arkansas this weekend. He was looking for fly fishing spots. I was along for the ride. It was an overcast day with the bare trees and dry grasses common to Winter. Even in the Ozarks, it was kind of dreary.
As we climbed higher in elevation, we noticed a lot of fog in the high valleys. The winding road grew steeper and in a short time, the fog turned to a fine frost which coated the tops of tall trees. Here the evergreens were sparse in number, leaving the forest looking like some bizarre Tim Burton world. Half frozen, half somber and somewhat menacing.
On we climbed, and with each mile gone the ice crept farther toward earth. Finally, it spread across the ground. Along the road, tall, feathery tufts of grass grew a good foot above the shorter stuff, their frosted tops bowing as if to some deity. Overall, the icy wonderland was ethereal and eerily beautiful. I could easily have spun a fantasy tale from the scene, complete with an ice witch and her frosty minions.
Another writer would probably see an ice fairy or a princess and happy woodland creatures. Me? I’m convinced the Ice Witch’s beauty would only camouflage her evil. Of course, I don’t care for the cold. It’s insidious and penetrates my bones too easily.
Tell me, how would you interpret the scene, or can you only envision my version now that you’ve read it?