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When I was young my family worked to put a little creek bed in our backyard. It was dry most of the year, but when snow thawed or rain came the water would flood that particular line of land. We cleared out that line of land, set down tarp and covered it with many, many stones. (I don’t remember where we got them, I only remember it was quite the excursion.)
I went outside a few days ago to check something in my backyard. We have rabbits who burrow beneath our shed, and my dogs often go back to sniff them out. One had been sniffing a particularly long time and I went out to make sure that there wasn’t a dead bunny for them to find.
I hurried through the cold but stopped at the creek bed. The warmth of spring-promising days had melted the snow, flooding the creek bed, and a bitter cold had snapped it frozen again.
Leaves and plants slept beneath the ice, and peaks of rock peeking above the sleek surface. Patterns of snowflakes were stenciled atop the frozen water, larger than any physical snowflake. Bubbles of softening ice hovered below the cover, quivering as the sun hiked nearer to noon.
I grabbed my camera and took a number of pictures. I like taking photos of myself, but I don’t have the control to catch exactly what my eyes see like I do when I take pictures like this. I tend to take pictures of very normal things. I find a lot of beauty in the ordinary, not just in the extraordinary.