The Mourning Icicle

As Murphy and I exited the garage in the alley for our chilly little walk this morning, a symphony of sights and sounds aroused our senses. Little signs of life were popping up here and there.  Crocuses pushed their way through little stretches of dirt between fence posts.  A stray little piece of grass beckoned to be noticed here and there.  Shots of melting snow cut little arteries into the dirty asphalt from warm light poking between parked cars and smelly trash cans. As we continued on our routine little jaunt down the alleyway to meet the sidewalk, Murphy perked his ears up and tugged his leash to get closer to something striking his fancy.  At the same time, something summoned my eyes to glance up.

There it was. Hanging from the corner of our neighbor’s garage gutter. Glistening, wet, and magical: a majestic icicle. Drip, drip, dripping. It’s teardrops were loud and friendly: split-splat, split-splat.  As the bright morning sun teased the ice to hang on for dear life, I was mesmerized at the intricacy of the ice formation. It was a dazzling jewel in the rough edges of what is usually a lifeless alley. Murphy tugged. I finally looked down to see what was catching his eyes.

In the splat-splat-splat of the icicle’s ever-growing and mournful tears, a little robin took a bath.  In and out he darted, playing in the cold splashes of the water as it hit the black and shiny little ice rink forming on the ground.  I pulled back on Murphy so that we could catch one more second of this engaging spectacle before the little bird took off in flight.

If you just look for it, there’s life in the alleys.