You know how sometimes something can bring you irrational wild joy?
For me, one of those things is ice on the Hudson.
I don’t know why it works that way for me. I don’t know whether ice chunks sitting on top of the water or floating slowly and generally south make other people happy — if they cause other people to stare at the river with open-mouthed joy — but they do that for me.
And I’m here to report that this week, there was ice.
Ice used to appear more often — I have no idea if it flows down from the colder parts of the state, past the end of New Jersey, above Rockland and Westchester, above Putnam and Rockland and Dutchess, all the way down from Lake Tear of the Clouds, where the river itself is born, or if it’s formed at the edges down here, breaks off, and moves to the center. But it used to be more frequent. I remember taking New York Waterways as it crunched its way through thick frozen fields. But now, in the last few years, as climate change presents itself to us, that doesn’t seem to happen any more.
But this week, as everything froze, and snow fell, the ice showed up again.
I don’t know why it’s so beautiful, or why it makes me so happy, but it is, and it does. And I am grateful for that beauty.