Water
Water, moved by gusts of wind. Low waves hitting smooth rocks on the lake shore. Run your hand through the water and it flows between your fingers and around your hand. You cannot grasp it, and you cannot catch it. The water escapes as you close your hand.
Come winter and the temperature drops. Sun barely rises over the horizon, the cold wind blows from the north, the sky is black, pierced by silent stars. The Moon is dim and vague, behind dark wispy clouds.
And now the water is so hard you can walk on it.
You can chip the ice and you can pierce it. You can grasp it, close your hand and you end up holding a piece of ice.
This is the same place and same summer water. Only the conditions around the water are different.

Pieces of straw captured by frozen water