Morning ice

We’re at that teasing time of year when everything freezes overnight and thaws again by noon. It’s Robert Frost weather:

I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.

Each line takes you further into uncanniness, but it’s the uncanniness of the world as it is.