The Lake in Winter
The writings at this blog are infrequent but eloquent and at times he writes as though speaking from my being. Case in point: “…I have put the lake inside myself. It does not leave me.” For any of us who grieve our waters or forests in winter, even just a bit, these writings may resonate. Savor these words.
It is six degrees below zero this morning and will likely be even colder tomorrow. This near the solstice the sun has not yet risen. Seventy-five miles south of the lake and faced with other responsibilities, I will not see its winter face any time soon. Yet, the lake lives in my mind and I travel to it in my imagination. I picture what it looks like after all the leaves have fallen from trees around its shore, after almost all its birds have flown south, after all its summer residents have locked their doors and shuttered the windows. I picture its shoreline after six-foot waves driven by autumn storms crashed on its rocky rim and pounded its islands. If I happen to see the 10 p.m. news, I look to the rooftop camera in Polson to give me an idea of how far the ice extends into the bay…
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