The ice storm comes at least once each year. There’s no predicting it; the day before and the day after might be balmy and calm. Once the storm is here, it seems best to hide indoors, but in retrospect I wonder. Could we fling open the doors and embrace the cold? Is the struggle in resisting and wishing it wasn’t so? If we opened our arms wide and engulfed the storm with warmth, would the icicles melt in our outstretched hands? Or do we batten down the hatches and hope that this one passes quickly, without inflicting too much damage?
