A Marcel Proust Moment

Had a Marcel Proust moment late yesterday afternoon. I was gazing out the window in my cubicle, first at the dripping water from the roof, then at the icicles and cornices of snow hanging on the side of teh building next door. Suddenly remembered those bright, slightly warm winter days when I'd wander around the house on Hitt Road, knocking down icicles and any other bits of winter clinging to the eaves of the house or the sheds. Sometimes we'd make castles out of the icicles, dragging a bit of black ice off one of the cars for the castle of the evil wizard.

I used to be pretty anal about knocking down every last bit of ice or snow. then a few days later, after more thawing, I'd do it all over again, and marvel at all the shards of ice piled on the ground under the eaves. We had that one corner of the house where the icicles grew huge, and we left those intact. Some years, the icicles turned into a massive ice clumn, inches thick, from the eaves to the ground.