flowers of ice

Apparently, old habits travel well. A week ago, on the very first night of our holiday, I rather overdid my weekend pour. To save space, I'd packed a gallon of cheap, dark sherry instead of a bulky stack of six-packs.Let's just say the headache lasted two days. My intestines are still negotiating a ceasefire.Anyway. I must have stumbled into bed somewhere around five in the morning. Just after seven, Eva violently excavated me from beneath the blankets, insisting that she needed to go outside right now. In my delicate condition, I completely forgot to disarm the electric fence alarm, setting the whole thing screaming the moment I opened the gate.After silencing the contraption, we wandered unsteadily along the narrow path through the veld that circles the cabin.Then we saw them.Random chunks of ice scattered on the dry winter grass.For a few bewildered seconds, I genuinely wondered whether I was having a stroke.I'd certainly been enthusiastic with the sherry the previous evening, but…