lake walks

some kind soul fires up his pickup truck every time it snows here, and plows a path all the way around turtle lake. nobody knows who he (or she) is, but we all flock to the ice every day, bringing dogs, cross country skis, children in sleds, ice fishing gear, snow machines.  we greet each other, admitting that it is cold out, but that it is better to be out under the low angle sun than indoors. every day, i pass our cattail bed on my way out, and my way in, feeling part of something both ways. part of a community on the way out. part of a family on the way back, to dinner, a fire, a glass of wine, and conversation. there is an exhilaration to cold weather that i don’t know i would find anywhere warmer than the 45th parallel.

cattail leaves in winter