February 14

I have never noticed it before.

    When you press your boot down on a sheet of slowly melting ice it crunches. I’ve heard that and loved every flakey crackle. But I have never before seen the squirm of melt-water under the top layer, pushed out sideways, sloshing about underneath. It’s like standing on a frozen pond but without any panic; like squeezing the body of a grub but without being disgusted.