There's something very sensuous about ice. Especially the icicle. It's almost as if it takes on a life of its own. Starting from a single drop of frozen water, it grows and grows, forming a long, conical spike. Like its snowflake cousin, no two are alike. One day very soon, it will be gone, as quickly as it was born. Eventually it will just fall off. But in the meantime, slowly it melts, drop by drop, drip my drip. And it is this process which I find so rich in awe and mystery.

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