On the shore of Lake Michigan, April 9th

The air is freezing, snow covers the ground, and the water is a dark blue. The sun emerges, without warmth, and tints the lake pale green. The wind forms waves that roll and crash rhythmically on the beach. The tide is high, and the dunes are the only dry sand.

I watch the waves roll and crash, little white animals, like skittering crabs, rushing to the sand, where they disintegrate and fall back, defeated. A continuous dance of breathless destruction and creation.

It’s too cold for animals, no birds or fish. The air burns my bare hands, foolishly gloveless. The ice and snow form patterns on the sand, frozen driftwood.

My friends are down the beach, what little of it there is, and I look to them. I watch a wave roll up and soak their feet. They jump, surprised. My laugh, like a seagull’s cry, cuts through the wave-soaked air.


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