Ice

Ice everywhere. Ice on the Chattahoochee where it flows from Coon Den Ridge;  ice on Lake Lanier;  ice down river at the Roswell Mill and Jones Bridge and on down toward Columbus. Ice on the State Capitol and on the freeways and on the side streets. Ice on the power lines and the trees, weighing them down, stopping traffic and chilling the spirits of the people. Ice blanketing cities and towns and countryside and covering the dome of Stone Mountain where Davis and Lee and Jackson peer into a nether sky as gray as sharks.

Seldom has there come ice so thick, seldom has there come cold so biting, to keep company this genteel Southern city that knows not how to cope.

The ice perdures.

And nothing moves.