Faint Whisper

Watching while the St. Croix Cove Falls turns to ice is a pleasure each winter. Since I first tripped down here all those years ago, I've regularly returned to see this towering drop turn to something solid. It starts with the spray, tiny particles freer to freeze, coating the closest surroundings. Then it draws in at the edges, slow and sure, like a portal closing to another world. Eventually, it's one solid icy column, top to bottom with no movement to be seen — only the faint whisper of something trickling within. Once the snow grows deep enough, I can walk the rim and slip inside the cave behind. There are few places more wonderful in my corner of the natural world. You'd almost expect a park out here, some tourist destination, but it's basically unknown land unless you're local. I nearly always have it to myself. Some secretive hollow sunken from sight, in the embrace of Poole Brook. Too low for sunlight, capturing cold, with all the lonely beauty you could crave.

 

December 7, 2025

St. Croix Cove, Nova Scotia

 

Year 19, Day 6601 of my daily journal.

 

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