Held Under

When a lake freezes it rarely does so with the smoothness of a mirror. Sometimes it freezes in large sheets that are broken by water moving under, over, and around them. The rough edges are curved by that same water movement becoming like irregular jigsaw pieces or circular plates often referred to as pancake ice. Stepping forward onto a ledge overlooking the plates, the sound is hollow as my boots press into the crunchy ice where the water had given in. Now there's just this deep silence that feels like being held under the cold water.

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The available light moves evenly, sometimes chaotic over the flat ice but is disturbed by a monolith of ice that refuses to be swallowed by the freeze. It sits frozen like an anchor not budging when water ripples around it. Above the sky bursting with a hot copper color that gave no warmth. The light felt dark and heavy as it pressed against the horizon, as it tried to squeeze every bit of color from the clouds. The silence pressed against my ears, so total that my own breath felt like an intrusion.

I stood and I watched till the copper color cooled, replacing it with a gray overlay. Everything stayed in place, not by choice, but because the cold ran out of room to let things move. I left the ice to its own stubborn purpose. It didn't need me standing there to witness it.