Icycles

A long and quiet day-the heat still coming in on the east-north eastern wind-I rest in the sun and try to remember yesterday--and yesterday's dreaming. Reality is sometimes hard to sort, or to recall--that is the cold of snow as it eats into the fingers of the woolen gloves, or what the mountain wind does to one's skin, or the pain of exposed ears although the days were bright enough. In that country the trunks of trees are straight as rulers and the down pointing branches let the load of snow drop into circles on the earth below. In spring long icicles form and above the kitchen door one sometimes grew as l long as Odin's sword and almost as dangerous. Small boys used them for the dangerous games that small boys like to play--and when, the game survived they gathered hot and thirsty at the school-yard door they ate their weapons. Here in this hot summer one could almost wish for such a sword against one's back.