Ice Storm

Eighteen years ago in January 2005, when I was almost nineteen years of age and living in west central Ohio with my parents and sister, a rare severe ice storm coated tree branches and other outdoor surfaces with one inch of ice accumulation, resulting in catastrophic damage and leaving us without electrical power or heat for 48 hours. The bizarre combination of spectacular beauty and terrible destruction inspired me to write the poem below, which was finally completed more than a year afterward and which offers an accurate description of the event. In subsequent months and years, I submitted it to various print and online publications, both Catholic and secular, but it has never been accepted for publication, perhaps due to its length (96 lines), or its changes of meter and lack of consistent rhyme. The style was greatly influenced by the epic classical poetry I studied in high school. Mild ice storms are a frequent occurrence this time of year in the mountains of western Virginia, where I have now lived for fourteen-plus years, and their beauty can be enjoyed without fear of danger except for occasional slippery road conditions. Please let me know what you think of this poem.

Ice Storm
by Justin Soutar
June 27, 2006

All through the dreary winter afternoon
A soft rain hammers steadily down.
A welcome respite from the piles of snow
Covering the ground some days ago.
Yet, we know this pleasant interlude
Will soon turn to snowy solitude;
And the clear drops of midwinter rain
Will yield to glistening powder again.
But suddenly—
A warning comes,
A dreadful chill
Pierces the wet air.
Raindrops clinging
To ground and branch.
Puddles turn hard.
--Everywhere—
The dismal clouds
Let fall their burden,
To weigh heavily
On the darkening land.
An eerie stillness
Now foreboding,
Nature trapped
Beneath layer upon layer.
As night falls,
The tree limbs’ icy burden
Grows too heavy
To sustain any longer.
The silence of darkness
Is suddenly broken.
C-c-crack! Just like that
A nearby branch snaps and
Crashes to earth,
Flinging a million chips of ice
Like shattered crystal,
Then stillness again.
Far in the distance,
Another bough cracks,
To be answered by another,
More and more crashes,
Each piercing the dark, frozen silence,
Over and over,
Finally a chorus
Of forest lords
Erupts in all directions,
Bowing to the ice.
Giant appendages
Torn from their stalks
Like candy canes
Bit by a child.
All through the night
The dirge wails on.
All through the following dingy day,
And through subsequent gloomy evening, slowly,
The chorus fades in a long decrescendo
Back into frozen stillness.
The next gray dawn arrives:
What a strange, yet beautiful sight!
Trees and earth all wrapped in ice,
All creation shrouded in white.
A million arches, like Romanesque churches:
Intact limbs, having withstood the onslaught,
Curving down with their heavy load
To touch the ground, at rest.
How strange that the clear liquid,
Sustaining all life,
Has morphed into bringer
Of damage and death.
So glorious to behold,
Yet a burden to nature;
A feast for the eyes,
Yet harm to the forest.
A million glistening white branches
envelop the white-coated ground,
Lying as conquered warriors
Beneath the towering staffs.
Fatal white magnificence
Blankets the earth,
A billion crystal jewels
Scattered everywhere.
Once more, the gray clouds turn somber
As night drops over the scene.
The ground remains frozen silent
And perpetually all motionless,
In ever-patient solidarity
With the damaged natives of the woods.
Up on high, a few starry diamonds
Begin to peek through the hugging clouds.
At the swift touch of a whistling breeze,
All of the radically injured trees
In their ice encasings creak and groan,
Limbs heave so painfully to and fro,
Anxiously awaiting liberation
From their long stiff-frozen condition.
Waiting till dawn for the earth to warm
And deliverance from tribulation.

Copyright © 2006 Justin D. Soutar. All rights reserved.