It has to be cold- very cold. Patches of ice float near the shoreline; a shimmering silver crust lies lies one mile out around the crib and extends as far as I can see. The lake is awe inspiring any day- in blissful sunshine or in frightful threatening weather, but it is in winter, January, that the vastness of my lake, observed from my kitchen window, amazes me. I went up to the roof-top to view the spectacle from different vantage points. Looking east/northeast, the sun barely emerging above the horizon casts a glittering pink sheen over the edge of the world, seeping into the cloudy rim defining it. Other worldly. Yet, this polar vortex reveals an old world secret: a clear stripe of warm water marks, I’m guessing, the vanished Lake Park Avenue.
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