The South Puget Sound has enjoyed(?) a period of uncharacteristically cold weather the last few weeks. We’ve had a lot of snow events; some mornings have brought lots of thick ice on the windows and other mornings, stubborn frost.

One morning the frost formations took my breath away; I could not overlook them — they looked like appliquéd window clings — they were right there on my windshield, taking forever to melt away from the defroster! And it was so cold that the friction of the wind as we drove did not melt them off the side windows.

My 11-, 9- and 4-year-old sons were discussing what they saw last week as we drove to school on that sunny yet frigid morning. The conversation went like this:

“Whoa! Look at these snowflakes on the window!” my 9-year-old exclaimed.

“No,” said my oldest son. “I just learned about this in our water unit in Science. Conditions need to be just right for this to happen. They’re ice crystals called “hoar frost.”"

“No,” said my 4-year-old. “They’re Ice Cousins.”

Did you say, “Ice Cousins?” I asked him, impressed that he had defined a relationship between ice and ice crystals.

“No,” he corrected me. “Ice Fuzzies.”

Oh my goodness! How cute was that? I chuckled at the oxymoron, but really it was the purest and most visually accurate description! The thin layer of crystals did look fuzzy and soft, like those white fuzzies from pollenating trees that float in the air in the springtime.

I reflected dozens of times that day on my youngest son’s name for nature’s “weather art” on the window. The crystalline water clung to the freezing glass, defying the bright winter sun’s threat to melt them.

Yet he saw warmth.

His perspective warmed my heart on a morning when my physical body could not get warm enough.

I’m not sure I can articulate the impact “Ice Fuzzies” had on me that day. To say I smiled and giggled each time I thought of it somehow reduces it to something comical —which it wasn’t.

It was a gift of undefiled beauty that could only be defined by a 4-year-old’s innocence.

 This mom is ever grateful for that gift.

© Alexa Lopez 2008