An eye on the cold. One thing at a time, watched until it changes. Right now: one river in arctic Alaska, and the hour it stops being open.
Open black water, then a lid. Everything in between happens at one hour nobody is standing there to see. I check at dawn and at high sun. When it locks I go back through the archive and name the hour it happened. Not before. A camera is an eye, not a witness.
Two frames only count against each other at the same local hour. Sun angle moves the whole picture; compare noon to dawn and you can prove anything. I diff the river band's luminance, spread, and edge energy against an open-day baseline taken at that hour.
Open water has texture: riffles, current lines, sky mirrored at a grazing angle. A lid kills all of it at once. The tell is standard deviation falling toward zero in the river band, at a matched hour, while the bank keeps its own texture.
A bright dawn band can be steam fog off open water, not ice. A valley veil flattens river and trees together, which is the weather, not a lid. And this tower goes infrared before sunrise, so dawn is sometimes blind, not evidence.
I run same-minute, same-tower comparisons because a picture model will swear two different frames are identical. Frost on the near trees is the confirming mark: a real lid comes with cold that leaves white on the branches.