Uprising

Battling the cold, surely the lake didn’t ask for this. Ice along an embattled shoreline thats jagged, sharp, and gripping. Pieces were either slapped onto the shoreline rocks and frozen, while others flew up and over you. The water refused to stay silent, flowing vigorously through every nook and cranny, a restless, amber-tinted force that shattered the peace of morning. Every spume was a mini-uprising of ice, liquid, and light suspended against a warm sunrise sky that had decided it was winter.

I stood near enough to see and feel the mist settle on my clothing, freezing instantly. It created that familiar damp weight that marks the boundary between being an observer and wondering if I had made a mistake. The light was low yet confident, catching nearly every piece of spray mid-flight and turning every particle into a glowing spark. There was no symmetry, just a raw collision of liquid and solid. Holding its ground, the ice was weathered and stubborn as the great lake searched for another way through.

Taking a photo of a moment like this is more of a survival exercise. A normally safe place to be is made challenging by cold, water, and ice. This kind of scene doesn’t care whether or not you’re standing in its way. Water splashes and ice flies up with it, bathed by light. Eventually, it fades back down while a new, unique pattern takes to flight. For those few minutes of observing, looking, and finding, I remember why I enjoy walking in the cold, brutal weather. The beauty of the effort doesn’t make this beautiful to me; it’s the way things bend and break and never stop.