When the wind throws rain against our windows like it does this morning, I’d rather stay home and read than take the little dog out for a walk. She follows me around, trying to control me with doggie esp. I give in, wrap her in fleece and me in a tent like combination of parka and rain pants. Outside, she flinches in the wind, drops down her muzzle, and powers past the old Alaska mansions on Chicken Ridge. We walk up Basin Road, with its snake line of Craftsmen homes into the steep sided valley drained by Gold Creek. I hold a bag of her poop in one hand where it will stay until we reach a trashcan. With the other, I try to focus the camera on water dripping from a dying ice formation. This wet, windy day has produced something other than malaise and snow melt. There is beauty here on a cusp of freezing and thaw: water on ice infused with winter light.