On the morning we’re scheduled to drive north, we wake to freezing temperatures and ice warnings.
I jokingly point to one of the outdoor trees; bedecked with ornaments and white lights, it sparkles as though coated with ice. “Look, Chelsea!” I say. “Ice in the trees!”
Clyde hears me and comes to the window.
“I made it all up,” I say. “The lights just look like ice.”
Clyde peers out into the early morning gloom. “Actually,” he says, “that tree really is coated with ice!”
And so it is: from each bright red ornament dangles a sharp, finger-thick icicle. Encased in what looks like polished glass, the branches positively gleam.
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