Fie Upon El Icicle

In its basic form, an icicle is a pendent, conical spike formed by the freezing of dripping water. Like with love or bitterness, each layer depends on the last one before it. Indeed, the process is a slow accrual that comes to a sharp point.

I see them everywhere, most commonly hanging off the sides of roofs, but also from trees, the bottoms of cars, utility poles and fences, on rocks near waterfalls or ground water seepage points. I even see them clinging to the bricks on walls.

Perhaps the reason I've noticed them this year is because the ones outside our new apartment are some of the biggest, heaviest, most jagged and ribbed icicles I'ver ever seen, or been close to. How satisfying it would be to reach out and knock them out single file at their thick bases! They'd be like a line of Dominos going down, falling down straight like divers and stabbing the snow, or else shattering into a hundred pieces. I've seen both happen. But I can't reach them from our porch. When I can, it's only one or two at a time.

It turns out they're much more complex than I or maybe you had known. There are pages and pages on them. They have roots, evenly-spaced ripples that form from the competition between gravity and surface tension. They have small bubbles inside them. As they grow, vertical ridges and horizontal rings form on their outer surface. They grow downward and outward at the same time, but at different rates. Some take their time.

Even after their phase of active growth has stopped, they continue to change shape and appearance, even at subfreezing temperatures. Some ice may sublime to the vapor state, thus smoothing out the surface.

How funny, I just overheard a conversation about the icicles outside this guy's window! Everyone's talking about them! Someone said, "Those are some pretty impressive icicles. They're turning into verifiable stalagtites." Like he was complimenting him on his shoes. "Hopefully I can get out of here pretty soon. Knock on an icicle." Hardy-har-har, da-da-ch.

Apparently they can reach yards in length. But most become unstable before then, usually during thaws, and crash to the ground below. As such, they are hazards. They can also pull down gutters and damage buildings.

If you're lucky to get through the winter without being impaled in the heart by an icicle, then off you go to spring, pretending like nothing's ever happened. Yeah, the sun shines again and the air warms. You may even dance. But do you forget about them? You don't. And you're not very much like them. You can't sublime. You may be able to change shapes, though most of the time it's not willfully. And can you really make it out there?

The truth is, they're beyond me. They've got me hooked, they've got me going away. Which is why I think I'm going to do them in once and for all. I'll just use a mop handle, and down they'll go. It'll be so easy! Sometimes all these things take is a little imagination.