I used to stay inside when there was an ice storm, and now I run outside with the dogs and my camera, and by now, they are used to my strange ways, circling around while I obsess on a raindrop, frozen to a leaf, a window on another world. Inside an ice storm is a magical, spiritual palce. There is so much magic and light in the world, and I failed to see it for so long. I have a spiritual counselor. I think Henry David Thoreau appeared to be my guide on this trip. I don’t have to run anywhere.