I stand at the edge of a dream, my breath a cloud. Snow has
transformed my familiar landscape and chilled my toes. This
careless arm of the East Verde where my grandchildren splashed
away the summer has frozen over and snow has rendered abstract
the shapes of rocks and junipers. Water gleams in all its forms
about me — still flowing in the stream, gathered in vapor on my
breath, crystallized into snow on every hand, frozen into ice
underfoot. I wish I knew the proper prayer — the light step of
the ritual dance — the intonation of the chant – to offer at
such a moment. Instead, I kneel at the edge of the stream and
study the ice, perhaps the most unlikely of water’s forms.
Here’s a nugget to suck on: Chill any other liquid and the
jittery molecules will slow down — bouncing about less as the
temperature drops. Eventually, the liquid will settle into a
stable crystal lattice — which takes up less space than the
liquid did. That’s why all other liquids most sensibly condense
when they freeze. But not water, than