Window frost is one of the last elements of magic in my world. So many of the other wonders of nature have been explained to death, poked and prodded relentlessly for scientific explanations as to their existence.
No doubt some team of meteorologists or hydrologists or some other ‘ologist’ have done the same thing with window frost, but I haven't seen their report — nor do I want to.
There are so many wonderful, magical things that happen around us all the time: day turns into night, sun and moon go through eclipses, apples fall down at our feet rather than float away when shook loose, and plants breath and create oxygen.
After all these once-upon-a-time events have been explained to us in scientific detail (sometimes ad nauseam), there is little magic left today to inspire us, to impress us, to titillate us.
When the bedroom curtains are drawn open each winter morning, I check the panes for Jack Frost’s ephemeral artwork, the elegant, almost personal, gift from the element of water and the phenomenon of freezing. I've yet to view a painting or sculpture which evokes the same sense of awe I've experienced while frost watching.
To create truly awesome patterns, there are the required elements of high humidity inside, very cold air temperatures outside, and a single pane of glass to separate them. Apparently I give off a good amount of moisture as I sleep, so the old glass that makes up our bedroom window is the perfect catalyst for frost creation.
If you live in a newer home with double pane window glass, well, I guess it sucks to be you, as you will not see frost formations.
Created from a single medium and displayed in monochromatic hues, this is true art, as the chilled air has worked the moisture into the perfect form. Our windows have sported seascapes, landscapes, close-up views of feathers, interpretations of fern gardens and several patterns of abstract design — all of which disappear upon the gentle touch of the sun's rays.
That first flash of a sunbeam makes these creations sparkle like diamonds, glint like sun reflected on the surf, glitter like sequins on a dancer’s costume. The dull grey patterns come to life for a display that lasts but seconds, minutes if you are lucky. And then it begins to change, from ice to water and then vapour that disappears back into the air.
That last statement is getting dangerously close to a scientific explanation, but where I find the magic is in the creation of the patterns themselves: why is it that today's pattern looks like a conifer forest while a few days ago the same pane was entirely covered with frozen feathers? Why not the same pattern? I'll tell you why — magic!
Science has given us great insights to the natural world we live in, and has certainly allowed us to change our lifestyles when compared to The Time When Magic Ruled all the Kingdoms.
But modern science has also taken a bit of the fun out of nature. I'm not for a moment suggesting that scientific explorations be discontinued, no-siree-Bob. I enjoy the artificial wonders which have resulted from science just as much as the next person. However, I do want to stay 'in the dark' as to the formation of frost patterns.
I wrote the following poem after a particularly beautiful set of panes were discovered one morning; it’s called Feathers, Ferns and Lace:
Looking at my window
I see a special place
As laid upon the frozen pane
Are feathers, ferns and lace.
Frosty grey, these swirls of ice
That formed there in the night,
Are shown to me by morning sun
Which accents them with light.
And when the sun climbs higher
The temperatures will rise,
Leaving me to wait again
For next morn's new surprise.
Whether it be window frost or hoar frost, it makes no matter to me — just so long as I can see it, experience it, enjoy it and savour it. Nature is the child within me, frost the artist I aspire to be. In this world of high-tech gadgetry, within these ages of discovery, it is the simple swirl of frost that takes my spirit onwards.