November 9

In the valley where Marshall Street descends on its way toward Kettlebrook Farm, the creek that passes underneath the road is frozen over.

Though we’ve had a dry autumn, the water here is still surprisingly wide, perhaps eight feet across where it pools in a small basin before entering the culvert.

Now there is a fair skim across the expanse, and the winding creek is also frozen up the feeder slope, interrupted here and there by sere grasses that poke upward through the ice.

Beyond the bend, where the water follows downhill to this basin, it must still be unfrozen; the flow is likely made turbulent where it strikes the edge of the ice, moving underneath the skim and bringing air bubbles along.

Standing on the roadside I watch the air moving beneath, thinking that it resembles quicksilver trickling along the dark expanse.