Looking up into the winter wonderland of white crystals brings the scene of dense, tall, packages of green leaves and snow covered pine needles, surrounding this colorless sea of minute shards of glass. The winding winds occasionally pick up pace and carry flakes of the crystals to different parts of the never ending sea. The biting chill in the air brings a burning sensation with every touch of its pointed finger. From time to time, the warming scent of a freshly baking apple crisp pie, from a far away bakery, sooths its way through the uncomfortable pain of the icy, thin air, like a lifesaver reaching out a strong hand to grasp. The feeling of an overpowering frost radiates from all sides causing movement throughout the chilled body. One foot slowly descends into the crunching snowflakes to begin the wind drawn journey forward to the top of this icicle waterfall.

Hot streams leak from unwillingly squinted eyes as bold, unafraid winds tear through the navy blue night skies, ripping at whatever innocent creature comes into close contact. The iced over air fills the lungs with a feeling of hopelessness and the bittersweet unwanted flavor of dry ice making it hard to breathe. As heavy, drawn out footsteps continue the infinite climb upstream in this river of pearl droplets, chattering, musical voices, up in the highest branches of the many half frozen spruce trees, can be heard as if whispering from up above. This unrecognizable melody combines with the traveling whistles of the wind to create a symphony unknown to any other season. A look to the west and east brings the vision of immense, stiff figures waving their soon to be wind blasted brushwood at the frigid passer byes. As the top of this hike through nature’s crystallized theatre comes near, the thickening aroma of burning, toasting, arid wood from a nearby farmhouse, weaves its way through the nippy atmosphere like the yearned for fragrance of delicious hot chocolate on a lonesome winter’s eve. It fills the nostrils with a sudden whiff of the warmth of deep red and orange, dancing flames, giving off heat to help burry the sickening cold. The crest of the sparkling, white hill now allows a chance for rest before descending a plummeting trip down the rapids of diamond sheets of ice.

Gently gazing into the shimmering horizon, the faint, pale yellow glow of freshly lit, drooping candles upon frosted shop windowsills, seeps through the suffocating abyss of a moonlit sky. This dim light in a sea of shadows brings the joyful feeling of a hope that has been lost by many years of melancholy. As the burning, tear strewn eyes remain in a stern focus on what lies ahead for the future, one, single, white speck flashes by in a hurry as if bringing the long awaited news of something great to come. Following this tiny glimpse of ashen crystal, arrives a snow globe outbreak of flurrying pieces of cotton, all wildly drifting in and out, winding their many paths until reaching the sudden barricade at the end of a long lost voyage from the twinkling stars above. The screaming calls of whirling winds yell to all who will listen while forcefully pushing the miniscule, fluffy snow pellets to create a panorama of blinding strobe light against the naturally, darkening backdrop of sapphire. The miniature icicle jewels pick up pace as they perform a nightly ballet routine consisting of spinning pirouettes on an endless stage of cool, fresh air. As each dancing figurine passes by at a tempo of racing heartbeats, there is a slight feeling of hundreds of prickling needles poking at what lies hidden beneath the fur lined hood of a dense winter jacket. The knees begin to lose security while searching through this gust of ashes and spikes for the taut firmness of a wooden sled, to slice through the shear walls of vitreous ice.

Crunching, creaking sounds emerge from under this depleted wooden plank as it sets out for the mapped course that awaits its next victim. The speed of this treacherous, downhill fall starts to feel more and more like the powerful lift off of a rocket to the moon as the sleigh bounds its way over every little bump and sharp, snaking turn. The slicing scrapes of the newly sharpened, shiny metal blades, fill the air with a strapping sense of adrenaline, as they dice themselves through an expansive field of icy charms. The contiguous atmosphere whooshes by in an abnormal, vague impression of whites, forest greens, and murky browns. The unknowing of what seats itself just outside the doorstep to reality is overcome by the willingness to allow the uncontrolled ride of the knives underneath to conquest. A collage of tumbling flakes bounces by and tickles the nose like a hint of cinnamon breaking away from the oven just in time to meet the curious airway passage. The hands grasp the edge of the frosted board intensely as the snow-white dreamland comes to the end of what seems like a life time of memories. The obnoxious winds begin to slow down and breeze by like soft clouds on a warm, sunny, spring afternoon. The now gently sprinkling fragments of whipped cream, settle in evenly distributed packs as if a long lost blizzard had never occurred. A last look back to this icicle waterfall and once again the delicious, mouthwatering essence of an awaiting, warm apple pie relieves the body and mind from the arctic winter wonderland that now sits in the past.