Walking alone, ice comes and goes. Silence is my companion.
Ice Bubbles
I remember walking along the streams as winter set in in western Nebraska. Ice would alternately cover over the streams and then melt away as the temperature slid up and down. These were mostly quiet days, the insects' songs long stilled by frost. A few birds could be heard, but seldom, and many days not at all. Some days I carried "Walden" with me and shared winters with Henry Thoreau.