Sunday, March 15
As I walk through the woods I notice the intricate patterns on the ice. I assume that a child got here first and danced and stamped on it.
As I continue I revise my opinion. All the ice has these patterns: even where it seems almost hidden under fallen tree trunks. Unless I have just missed the world’s most diligent and determined child, these patterns must have formed naturally.
As I reach the top of the hill and walk down the pools and puddles suddenly have no ice covering at all. Later, in a completely different area, I will come across more of the intricate patterning.
I blame nature.