Sometimes when Thoreau cut holes in the ice of Walden Pond, the holes would later freeze, and still later rain fell “and finally a new freezing forms a fresh smooth ice over all, it is beautifully mottled internally by dark figures, shaped somewhat like a spider’s web, what you may call ice rosettes, produced by the channels worn by the water flowing from all sides to a centre. Sometimes, also, when the ice was covered with shallow puddles, I saw a double shadow of myself, one standing on the head of the other, one on the ice, the other on the trees or hillside.”
Where I’m from, as in the place Henry was from, most people don’t spend a lot of time in winter looking at ice with a loving eye. Ice causes accidents. You slip and fall on icy pavement and hurt yourself. Your car slides through an intersection and gets T-boned by another car. Ice breaks limbs from trees and plugs the gutters on your roof and will burst the pipes in your house if they freeze. Ice is not your friend.
But if you really look it… what might you find?
(About “A Year in Walden”)