Ice, Ice Baby

An icicle dangling from one of our windows.

I woke up in the wee hours of the morning today, at 4:31 a.m., roused by the grating sound of sleet, striking the window pane. It was a noise quite like that of a swarm of short spaghetti strands drumming on glass.

When I looked out through the slats of the blind, all was dark and hazy. Ice pellets were falling in a steady pace from the sky.

At this writing, it’s transmuted into freezing rain—raindrops that freeze into a hard and dangerously glazed, icy texture on contact with any surface. In a way, it’s just the opposite of snow, which comes down as soft and fluffy flakes, and melts on hitting the ground.

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