First, the ice melts like farm communities
seen from an airplane window.
Is this what it’s like to be in love?
Then come ice hieroglyphics
written by lake life waiting below.
Is this what it’s like to be happy?
Ancient language experts
will be called in to interpret.
I want to understand.
The ice cracks and moans.
Photography and poem by Mary MacGowan
Songs for the Pure of Heart 
oh my gosh, between your orange toes and photos post and this one- you rawk within and outside of all bounds! muy muy wonderful! (and thanks for reposting steelheads!)