The new thing is making words up, or so I’m telling people, and I’m all about the new thing. Today that word is ‘sprice’ – which in its original long-winded form translates as ‘spring ice’ – something we had the misfortune of finding in our backyard thanks to a wayward sprinkler system. A small spray of water coated and transformed a lace-cap hydrangea during a windy and cold day this past weekend, hopefully not killing it in the process. In the sunlight and against the blue sky, it made for a beautiful, if slightly disturbing, scene.
These early days of spring are so iffy, like the season is not quite ready to arrive or reveal itself. Winter’s tail-whip can lash back worse than that demon did in ‘Lord of the Rings’ – you shall not pass and all that jazz. We won’t make it out of the winter wilderness for certain until May.
That won’t stop us from dreaming.
Ice, ice baby, indeed.
