Something there is about an ice storm.
Of course, we wouldn't want one often, but perhaps the occasional chilling blast has its silver lining along with the crystal coating that blankets the landscape, carrying the promise of a glistening and shimmering vision at the time that the sun eventually breaks through.
It certainly slows the customary frenetic pace of our lives. Travel comes to a standstill; the lack of cars on normally busy streets is immediately noticeable and cause for comment. Priorities get reset in direct proportion to the severity of the glassy sheet that covers streets and walks and power lines and trees and shrubs, and makes every footstep crackle underfoot unless it sends us sprawling.
The icy glaze invites us to stay indoors, perhaps to get reacquainted with family, or to catch up with reading or to answer those overdue letters, or to undecorate the house from Christmas and get the shattering tree moved out and furniture restored to its normal location so the New Year can begin in an orderly fashion.
In those who do venture out, the storm often seems to vest a sense of caution and care and courtesy, as each traveler watches out for the other. Neighbors check on friends, and family members advise each other about the perils of the situation the weather has wrought.
Our thanks go out to city and county employees who tend our streets, and to police and fire and other emergency workers who deal with crises to see us through the impacts of the fearsome winter attack.
Perhaps there are lessons from all this. Too often, though, they vanish as quickly as the ice melts away. Still, it's something to muse about on a frigid morn after nature has flexed its muscles across our landscape.
And to our readers we advise: Be careful. You're very important to us.