Ice

The microspikes have been sent ahead to Colorado and the Yak Traks are missing.  Daisy still has her 4-paw drive, but I find myself slipping and sliding on our walk to the mailbox.

Love Brook is still open and running, especially after the rain yesterday.

We are welcomed home by footprints of ice leading to the doorway.
The word ICE comes up on my phone every time Jim calls because he is listed as "In Case of Emergency" or ICE, and the letter "I" comes before "J".  It's an idea that hasn't really caught on, but it amuses me to see his telephone call, with his image next to the airplane emboldened by the word ICE.  It is as if a cool and unflappable pilot is calling   His phone used to ring with a French police car's siren when I called him.