On the Surface: A Fleeting Freeze

Ice on a puddle is a quiet photo subject, but watching as the frozen flow patterns were revealed by the rising sun this morning was a lovely start to an otherwise ordinary Sunday. Over about 30 minutes, the puddle transformed from a seemingly featureless gray surface into sparkles and spikes and the reflected sky and trees giving it dimension and character before the sun melted it all away, as if I’d dreamed it. Radiating crystals around the remains of a battered palm tree fan mimicked the shape of a live fan of fronds, and a face with a penetrating stare appeared at the top edge, à la David Popa.

Ice is rare on Tybee; its ephemeral nature makes it tantalizing. Those minutes of pure concentration at the edge of the silent marsh freed me from all thoughts other than wondering what this small patch of hardened water might show. My tingling fingers were a small price to pay for the wonder of seeing the designs emerge—the ice seeped into my psyche.

In other seasons, Tybee puddles are vibrant pools with layers of chartreuse loblolly pine pollen swirling on their surfaces, or the ripples of raindrops pulsing out toward their edges. And as with puddles everywhere in the world, the pleasure of splashing through ours (in my white shrimper boots) is a reliable delight. At the beach, tide pools around the jetty rocks are temporary ecosystems of starfish and hermit crabs; the tiniest bodies of water here are those trapped inside bivalve shells after the tide recedes.

“‘Tis not in the high stars alone,
Nor in the cups of budding flowers,
Nor in the redbreast’s mellow tone,
Nor in the bow that smiles in showers,
But in the mud and scum of things
There always, always something sings.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson