It snowed again. Another two or three inches. Brightened things up. I crunched down to the river under the watchful gaze of an eagle.
The river was flowing again. Sometime during the night it had bent its back under the weight of ice and snow and broken free. I wish I could have seen and heard that.
I watched for a long time. I, too, am feeling the weight of the ice and snow. I, too, am ready to break free.
Then this morning the river was once again covered in ice. But it's there, still flowing. Bide your time, it says. Bide your time.