Ice comes in as many shapes as the water it comes from.
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These circles probably started off irregular as snow fell, and water splashed it over time as the current rotated it until it formed a round pad.
Edges, not smooth but jagged, imperfect. The pattern of round floaters looks like a mistake, or a debris field, with chunks of malformed ice floating in between.
They are separate now, pushed by the constant movement of water under them. Sliding back and forth with no end in sight. The water never runs out of places to go, but the cold has other plans for it.
Standing there for a short time, watching the movement of the mist on the horizon. Deciding whether or not this was worth my time. I thought of the time it took for the ice to form, much like the time it took for me to form.
The image is flat, almost heavy. Chaotic, even though peaceful. Much like everything, it was delicate, soft—like a veil, even though one did not exist. Liking an image that isn't perfect fits me because I am not perfect.
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