Three a.m this January morning...
Brightness drew me to the windows on the west side of my house.
The glow of moonlight on the ice-bound creek gleamed back at me like polished silver, and moonlight traced itself along the snow-glazed trunks of trees.
At the roof edge of my house, icicles grown tall from weeks of unrelenting cold were filled with moonlight; they shone into my eyes like crystal chandeliers.
The cold night had its compensations; I didn't curse it.
Three degrees and growing colder...