Every roof line on the farm are growing icicles. I see them dripping as the snow begins to warm in the daytime, only to grow longer each night.
Many times the edge of the roof is covered by the slow cascade of snow as it inches its way over the precipice, the icicles hang over off the snow and some hang all the way to the ground.
When the sun hits the icicles, they sparkle with prism rainbows and tinkle like fine china when they loosen from the hold of the snow and crash to the ground.
Schmidlin Angus Farm 