We stepped onto the ice, fishing our goal.
A grandfather, a grandson, two explorers with one mind; catching fish.


Our steps carried over clear, see the bottom ice.
Safe to walk on thin, one inch short of half a ruler.


Our destination ahead, over one-half mile of slick, glassy hard water.
Yesterday’s warmth had become frozen puddles overnight.


Not ordinary, these were exquisite in distracting beauty.
Ice stained glass mosaics of clear pointed needles, with no color.


We fished, God chose to add color; a thin dusting of snow.


His stunning new creation black and white evidence.

God still creates.