I woke up one morning in Chicago to an ice storm. I was living right behind the Music Box Theatre (in the apartment where my man used to climb through my bedroom window at 3 in the morning). My roommates and I had the first floor of a house. There was a backyard and also stone front steps, where we used to sit having coffee on nice days. It wasn’t a main street, not a lot of traffic and certainly not fast traffic. It was quiet. Spent a lot of days just sitting on those front steps and reading, watching my cat Sammy play in the flower beds.
I’ve only experienced a couple of ice storms. They’re always so treacherous, but also so glamorous. The world completely transforms. And it’s not just visually, although that’s a huge part of the transformation. You can really tell it’s an ice storm because of the sounds. Everything crackles and clicks, the “rustles” of the trees have a click-click-click sound instead of a shoosh-shoosh sound. Everything shines, glints, sparkles.
Again, at this point in my life I had a really good camera, and could zoom in on what I was seeing.
I really like these.
