I have a morose fascination for watching ice form on Goose Lake. This time it came on a dismal gray morning following a low of 11 degrees. The first hint of ice looked more like a light layer of impurities floating on the surface, like dirty dish water in the sink. Anxious ducks and geese swam randomly at the front of the formation, sometimes nearly bumping into one another.
Within an hour the ice was ice, reflecting dull images of leafless trees. The birds had taken refuge on land until the transformation was complete and they could get their bearings again.
That was two mornings ago. Yesterday the temperature rose slightly above 32 and the thin crust of ice retreated, holding its frosty breath. We all know it will be back before long, creeping quietly across the surface as only ice can do.