In series by Amir Adam Nafs The stuff melts. The stuff sets. This week, the gibbous rim of the Greater Lake has pulled in and out of form. In lots, water stands in potholes all day, clots into black ice overnight, then re-bleeds into the asphalt by noon. It rains, it snows, then it falls as some chimera—first a wintery mix, then hail the size of clenched fists.