thou art all ice

“Tut, Tut thou art all ice. Thy kindness freezes. Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?” ~ Richard III, Act IV, Scene2 William Shakespeare

First snowfall of the season – not a dry powdery lacy blanket but a dense covering of heavy wet sponge. To be followed by bouts of melting and freezing and presto – treacherous slippery sheets to navigate whether on foot or behind the wheel. Throughout the interminable winter, with each snowfall more layers of ice pile on this first layer. You’ve got your clear gritty ice, grey milky ice and your glossy black ice. This city is not pedestrian friendly at the best of times but worse in the winter so behind the wheel is probably safer.

Walking on ice is a game of chance. Any second your foot can jerk out from under you and down you go like a wet sack. Crossing busy streets is a nightmare. Impatient drivers like to play “let’s see how fast the pedestrian can move” revving their engines and aiming their trucks at you while you try to scurry out of the way and flip them the bird. I am not a total banana heels on ice but can’t believe I used to love to skate. This city’s version of Squid Game.

To combat the ice, I usually pull on ice cleats or strap on contraptions that look like metal cages. They work after a fashion – I don’t slip or fall but are oh-so-hideous and inconvenient. This year I hope to avoid all that and purchased a pair of boots which are supposed to be slip resistant. Warmth and comfort are definite assets. Their traction qualities remain to be seen but I won’t go down without a fight.


William Shakespeare  – Sonnet 73, First Quatrain

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang …

Sums up autumn pretty much for me …



“I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,
If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,
If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun
And crocus fires are kindling one by one:
Sing robin, sing:
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.”
–  Christina Rossetti


September 1 is much too early to be admiring fall colours.

“September was a thirty-days long goodbye to summer, to the season that left everybody both happy and weary of the warm, humid weather and the exhausting but thrilling adventures. It didn’t feel like fresh air either, it made me suffocate. It was like the days would be dragging some kind of sickness, one that we knew wouldn’t last, but made us uncomfortable anyway. The atmosphere felt dusty and stifling.”
Lea Malot [ ]