I consider living along the Chicago lakefront one of the great blessings of my life. The other day I went for one of my favorite walks, along Rogers Park Beach on the way northern tip of the city. I have a special love for the lakeshore in winter. The combination of ice, sand and snow always strikes me as incongruous. Beach is a summer thing. But actually, it’s not. It’s there all the time.
As I reached the end of Pratt Avenue where the street dead ends into the park and beach, I could hear the waves. You can always count on the sound of the waves, can’t you? Sometimes they roar, other times they tinkle so softly that you only hear them close to the water’s edge.
On this day, they were pounding the shore. The pier was glazed in ice so that I didn’t dare venture farther out to the lighthouse, not because of the ice but because of the icy shower that was threatening at all times.
The wind was blowing hard and even though the sun was shining, just taking these photos with my Smartphone, my hand was frozen stiff in no time. The air was around 20F that day.
I always find the sound of the waves immensely soothing, even if it’s cold and the water leaves everything in its wake glazed in ice; even if I have to watch my step between the slippery sand and the cold waves reaching for my boots.