In a City of Glass

Last Friday we came down the highway toward Abbotsford

wondering, as temperatures dropped, if we would hit snowfall.

But what we found was a city in the dark.

It was a strange feeling, seeing all the lights off ...

 the hotel, the mall, houses, streetlights, traffic lights ...

and with it, watching out for branches or fallen trees on the road.

Our power was off until the next afternoon,

others longer.

So these past few days driving up into our neighborhood, 

I've stolen quick shots ... 

pure delight in this momentary beauty,

such as when the sun catches each tiny ice covered twig.

or of cold crystallized trees standing strong.

Many have not fared so well.

Some neighbors who have delighted in seeing their trees show off spring blossoms, 

then turn to green and burgundy ... now see them broken from the weight of the ice.

In our yard, I took a closer look at some of the details.
Dried buds or pods and mini lights encapsulated in ice bubbles,
upside down icicles,

and fir branches hanging low with the weight of the ice.

Our Japanese birch resembling an icicle umbrella,

and the oak tree sending out spidery webs of ice

over frozen brown leaves left hanging.

We went for a walk down to the pond.

One part of it was cordoned off.

So we made our way to the other side,

catching some of the most breath taking winter scenes ...

along with some sadness ...

actually quite a bit of brokenness littering the path.

The intriguing thing about these scenes ... 

at home, at the park, on the road

is that I wanted to capture this beauty,

sometimes a haunting beauty

sometimes broken ...

and I don't really know why.

Is it something I can put into words ... I wonder.

These have been my thoughts as we have entered a new year.

A year in which I may look for the beauty 

that comes with brokenness. 

A beauty that comes with sadness alongside crystal perfection,

each fleeting in their own way

because spring will come again.

⭐⭐⭐