Loki Wyrd Posted November 4, 2004 Report Posted November 4, 2004 This still needs some work. Ok, a lot of work. Help? It wasn't too long ago the white, powdery snow was crunching underneath my boots. I had dressed up warm: long underwear, heavy socks, gloves, boots, my bulky winter coat (with the hood up), blue Detroit Lion's stocking cap, and a bottle of 100 proof Southern Comfort in the inside pocket of my coat. I also brought along a couple mechanical pencils and a pad of paper, with the intention of trying to write. I lived across the road from Lake Huron. With snow on the ground I couldn't tell where the beach ended and the ice began, though it was my intention of finding out. After crossing the road, I waded through a few snowdrifts down a gently sloping hill to the beach. I continued along past the sands and soon onto the harder surface of the ice. Sweeping the snow away with my foot I could see that here, in the shallow water, it was frozen solid to the bottom. It had been a cold winter; the ice would be plenty safe to walk on. Reaching into my coat, I pulled out the bottle of whiskey. I gave it one hard look. I had no love for it now or then, but I'd drink of it regardless. I had a little more than half the bottle left, and I had brought it along just for the sake of finishing it--one of the primary reasons I came out into the cold in the first place--to feel the warmth that it would bring me. I threw back my head, and with a swallow came a rush of liquid, burning my throat as expected. It wasn't that bad so long as I didn't have to smell it, because if I did, then I'd really get a taste of it. Feeling warmer for my troubles, I walked further out onto the lake. The snow became progressively shallower, until it wasn't deep at all. It hugged tightly to the ice; with no protection, the wind blew mercilessly upon anything that would stand up to it. I, unfortunately, was walking directly into it, as opposed to blowing back to shore like a good snowflake. With not as much snow, and therefore less traction, I resorted to dragging my feet. It allowed me more balance, and it was more fun than walking. I wasn't that far removed from my youth that I couldn't remember all the enjoyment I had as a kid sliding around on the ice. A couple hundred yards from shore the structure of the ice began to change. It was where the water and ice met. The ice had mounded up, but was still terribly smooth and slippery--more so than before even. Both the wind and waves had seen to it. I could see where the previous ices' edges had been as well, as there were multiple ridges inward from where the ice now ran. All the ice here had taken on the color of the sand below, from the silty waves washing upon it and freezing. The sandy, hilly appearance of all this outward ice structure couldn't help but recall to me the sand dunes of Lake Michigan. As a kid I used to go sledding on them when they were covered in snow. These were much smaller, of course, but an effective memory jogger nevertheless. After walking along the water's edge for a short while, I decided to sit down on one of the secondary "ice dunes." First I had a drink, and then I got out my pencil and paper. Sometimes writing would come easy to me--thoughts and ideas streaming into me, as would a river into a lake. All I would have to do is channel them onto paper. Other times, as was the case in this instance, I had to stop and think for a short while. But then it came to me, in the form of the obvious. I sloppily scrawled onto my little pad of paper a simple abcb rhyme, lacking even in punctuation: I'm walking on water I can't see the ground My feet are below me Still, I look down The wind is wild Shaping the terrain Relentless as the water Which it tries to tame It was a start. Nothing I was going to get excited about, though. By now my butt was beginning to feel a little cold, so I decided to get up. After putting my pad inside my coat and having a drink, I was ready to be on my way. It felt good to be walking, keeping the blood circulating. I dragged my feet, moving further down shore among the ridges of ice. Once in a while I would spot air pockets within the ice, and I would make a point of going out of the way to step on them: the brittle white outer layer shattering into pieces under my feet. Constantly peering over the edge of the ice, I couldn't help but wonder. Imagining the ice I stood on breaking off from the rest. Floating out into the void of the lake. Visualizing myself all alone on a piece of ice no larger than a Cadillac. Having a bottle to warm me, though I knew that would do me no good; inevitably the chill would catch up with me. I could already feel it. It was no good. I could drift away in my mind, but my body knew better. I would just keep on walking, occasionally stopping to take the chill off. At about a quarter bottle left, I noticed that off in the distance a car on the road had stopped. I'd obviously been spotted and was drawing the driver's attention. He had by now gotten out of his vehicle. "Don't walk out on the ice! It's not safe," he shouted out to me, while waving his hands over his head to make sure I was aware of his presence. "Ok. Will do," I half-heartedly shouted (I was never much of a shouter) in reply. Then I gave him a thumbs-up for emphasis. He seemed satisfied. He got back into his car and drove off. I had been walking long enough anyhow, I figured, taking into consideration my return trip. So I began walking to the beach. The snow's depth, which had been negligible, was once more growing as I neared shore. At first it wasn't even an inch; soon it became two, then four...until it was about as deep as my boots, nigh on ten inches. By then I was back to walking--not dragging my feet any longer--on the sand. Up towards the road, which consequently paralleled the beach, snowdrifts waist-high weren't uncommon. But I was walking along by the ice, at a reasonable depth. The snow would compress under my boot, the sands, however, would shift to adjust to my presence. Walking along the beach I had another drink or two, then I came upon a worn lawn chair that had been left out from summer. Sitting down, I took out my pad of paper once again. This time I knew what I was going to write, I would have no problem finishing what I started. I took my gloves off, in an attempt to write legibly... Everything seems to wash away With the pounding of the waves The voices of those I've left And the choices that I've made They are all left ashore Where the real people play The focus of my attention Before I drifted away Just gazing out into the lake is very serene. If it wasn't for the occasional car I could hear drive by on the road, over the hill, I could almost imagine having the entire beach to myself. No footprints in the snow but those I had left. Following them back in my mind: allowing me a moment of grace. Which was so eloquently snapped by the sound of a semi-truck barreling down the road. It was time to make tracks anyhow--new ones, leading onwards. I had almost reached the part of the beach I had come out on. Leading from the road were my earlier tracks and a path through the high snow. I proceeded to pull the bottle out of my coat, looking at the remaining whiskey--which wasn't such a good idea. There was just about two shots worth, but it seemed a daunting task. It's psychological more than anything. I didn’t think I could do it. Then, as I found myself downing the rest, I knew I couldn't. It seems necessary to know that you can do something, no matter how arbitrary, or there's no point in even trying, because you've already failed. Such was the case here. Wiping my chin, I looked down at the snow. There must have been almost a quarter of the bottle there, unceremoniously strewn about my feet. Coming up it burns more than ever. But, I move on. Stashing the empty bottle in my coat, I head out the way I came in. It's much easier going than coming. It's always been that way for me.
Appy Posted November 4, 2004 Report Posted November 4, 2004 Made me smile and feel as if it was me walking there.. well done. At the moment I don't see where this needs work. Loved the last line too, good closure.
Loki Wyrd Posted November 6, 2004 Author Report Posted November 6, 2004 Thank you both for the comments.
Recommended Posts