The lake changes to a whole new world when the snow and ice comes. In summer, the waters teem with fish and the forest around shimmers with birdsong and the soft ins and outs of the gentle water sounds like the whole world is breathing. In winter, all falls silent and the fish fall still, resting at the bottom of the lake where the waters keep their warmth and the rocks hold morsels to be found. To come to the surface and peep through the fisherman’s ice holes is always a wonderful moment, especially as the snows fall and the hardness of the sleeping ice is forgotten beneath the heaps of soft white flakes.
I can sit for hours and watch the sky turn from day to dusk, from twilight to midnight, and the snows can fall around me and bury me until I am no more than funny white lumps on the lake. The waters below the ice are like a sauna compared to the cold, free winds above, so I am never cold and never afraid. In those moments, I am the only living thing and the only one who will see and remember.