The day, a compunctious Sunday after a week of blizzards, had been part jewel, part mud. In the midst of my usual afternoon stroll through the small hilly town attached to the girls' college where I taught French literature, I had stopped to watch a family of brilliant icicles drip-dripping from the eaves of a frame house. So clear-cut were their pointed shadows on the white boards behind them that I was sure the shadows of the falling drops should be visible too. But they were not. {"The Vane Sisters"}
The narrative captures a reflective moment on a Sunday, following a week marked by intense blizzards. Amid the contrasting beauty and messiness of the day, the author takes a leisurely stroll through the hilly town where they teach French literature, observing the serene yet cold winter landscape. The striking image of icicles hanging from a house draws the narrator's attention, prompting a moment of introspection about the interplay of light and...