I was walking along the creek I love in the heart of Saint Minneapolis. It was a cold, gray mid December day, and the paths down below the river road were barely brushed with snow and gloriously quiet. It was bleak down there, but a kind of bleak loveliness, not one easy to photograph, but one I found myself increasingly enjoying.
But finally, as it must eventually be so deep in the city, the spell of peace was broken by two women coming up the path. I politely cleared off out along a side path so that we could avoid any meeting, but I guessed wrong; the side path was where they were heading. I headed then to the stream instead, just above where it plunges over a 30 foot fall, and they passed to my right.
"Getting some good ice pictures?" One of the women called out cheerily, having seen the large camera around my neck.
I smiled tightly.
Jesus, these people, for god's sake! Ice. Ridiculous.
I waited for the women to disappear into the woods. I savored the retuning silence. Then I looked down at the creek. It was, actually, rimmed and bordered by very interesting ice.
I took a picture or two.
These could be good!
So I took a hundred more.