On Monday I treated myself to a walk on the lakefront. “Treated,” because going for a walk is a major operation these days, involving long underwear, serious snow boots (thank you, L.L.Bean!), a balaclava-type hat (otherwise your face freezes), and fingerless gloves for taking photos. I was amply rewarded: fresh air, no one around except me, and wide open white space!
However, Lake Michigan is gone. The water is gone. No waves, no splashing, not even a gentle tinkle, nor ice floes rubbing against each other. Rather, the utter silence of a frozen lake, immobile and white. Last week, when I was flying back to Chicago from Virginia and looked out the plane window, I was surprised when suddenly the checkerboard of Midwestern farmland was replaced by unbroken whiteness. What was that? The lake! Covered in a blanket of snow.
No more steaming lake as in photos when the arctic cold first hit in early January. Now the city lies silent and gray beyond the snowfield of the lake.
The city has given up on plowing the lakefront path, at least the one that winds around Promontory Point.
PS: Can you tell I have a blogging deficit from my time at VCCA?