Into The Frigid Stream

Overnight the temperature
plunged intemperately, greeting
the dawn with an icy chill. Gone,
yesterday's late winter-mild gift,
albeit packaged with clouds and
ribboned by a howling wind. Sun
accompanies this icy day and a
sweet abundance of tiny, excited
redpolls flicking themselves about
the green spines of an elderly
fir, as we enter the ravine.

The trails, deep in snow and ice
have regenerated that glass-smooth
gloss, and we proceed with care.
Behind us high notes of the redpolls
hang frozen in the air, tinkling like
frozen bells. The hulking shadows
of jet-black crows follow as we descend,
coarsely pleased with the peanuts we
dispense, eager to pre-empt the
squirrels, electric-swift, tiny and red,
rapid to their no-contest challenge.

The snow-humped banks of the
creek dip toward the ice thickly
bordering the freed areas where
meltwater runs swiftly in ripples over
fallen tree branches, conflict between
movement and freezing atmosphere
restraining a freeze-up. There,
comfortably waddling into the frigid
stream, a pair of mallards steaming
off in the narrow running channel
between rigid borders of ice.

Photograph by Glenn Upton, My Shot A couple of mallards take a stroll on the ice of a tributary stream of the Ottawa River in Ontario this past winter.