piled ice, snow, every
thing looked raw except when
you knew what it meant

There wasn’t even a trace of green in the landscape but then it smelled like spring in the fifty-degree temperature and the sight of the mounds of snow on the north sides of houses, shacks, and log cabins, and the drifts along fence rows, and the glistening drift ice far out on Lake Michigan and the ice piled on shore on the westerly sides of the forested peninsulas out into the lake.

It was more the contrasts in the present that attracted me to this paragraph.

Its a line from the fifth Brown Dog Novella, He Dog, by Jim Harrison.

I grew up in Michigan.

I grew up in West Michigan when the Lake Michigan was a 45 minute drive away and more times than I can remember, I made the drive out to see Lake Michigan covered in ice.

Trips to the ice do stand out though.

Once when my wife, then girl friend, said to me that I was going to get her out on the ice.

Then I pointed out to her that we had been walking out on the ice for a couple hundred yards.

There was also the time I went through the ice when I was about 12.

I yelled HELP, I’M THROUGH THE ICE and my brother Jack, who had driven us out to the lake so was nominally in charge yelled IS HE KIDDING.

My brother Pete got to a place where he could see me and his eyes bugged out and he yelled NO!

My point being that when I read, “the glistening drift ice far out on Lake Michigan and the ice piled on shore on the westerly sides.”

But that isn’t exactly accurate.

I mean I wasn’t reading.

I was listening.

I was listening to the audio book as I took a lunch time walk at work.

In my head, I was along the frozen shoreline of Lake Michigan.

My feet were making their way towards the Atlantic Ocean.

Both places were about 55 degrees.

I heard “… the sight of the mounds of snow on the north sides of houses, shacks, and log cabins, and the drifts along fence rows, and the glistening drift ice far out on Lake Michigan.”
I saw the December empty streets of a summer Resort and then the glint of the sun off the waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

The beach was almost empty.

I don’t know what Kings and Presidents get paid or how much money those billionaires have, but I don’t think they get to walk along an empty beach at lunch time too often.

It was quiet.

I could see forever out past Tybee Island.

I could hear the waves.

I could hear the putt putt of a shrimper going past not too far off shore.

I could hear the gulls.

It all sounded a but raw except when you knew what it meant.