Float like a trapped air bubble in the motionless water, and kiss the uncracked surface. A new pair of skates, a bit too sharp, will soon save you. Catch the goggles, the cellphones, the promises of betterment that sank in the summer and your dad’s sacred oak paddle— anything but a fish. If you go canoeing & swimming, tether a bungee cord from keel or ankle to dock and snap out of your feather-hat-fantasies as soon as frost bites. Stay inside and toss knotted pine in the fireplace and (freezer burnt apple pie in hand) relax & unwind. Yes. Be a blanket for once. Be the thing that sinks without resistance. Then be human. Everyone wants to go on a nature walk. These things are universal-ish. Don’t question the shapes that surface in the cracked puddles and ski-doo tracks. Follow the rabbit’s paw prints (or the raccoon, if you’re brave) and once you arrive: enjoy the view. Daybreak will happen at night, but even with eyes closed, watch the sunrise. Watch it exhale small squirrels that spiral up conifers. Let go of the rest. And when you take a hot-chocolate leak in the renovated, pubic-hairless bathroom, read each word on the decorative mass-market poster nailed over the toilet. Don’t be surprised when your breath catches before the snow-packed weight and angelic chill of the final command to—take in each moment.
Lake Rules (Winter Version)
