Lake Michigan is always dramatic. Even on its calm days it comes across as extraordinary. The mass body of water washing up on the beaches of Chicago, Traverse City, take on a hue and energy that the two coasts simply do not have. It is amazing.
I used to run along the shoreline in my younger days. From Belmont to North and round the bend, I’d stretch my legs out, arms swinging, head bobbing, and look on as the tide rolled in. The sun going down, birds flying over head, there was a real serenity.
But, my favorite time to go to the shore was during the autumn and winter months. That was when Michigan was most theatrical. Waves crashing the beaches,climbing high and bending, I’d gaze. The temperature so cold, one could swear they saw a wave freeze.
However, this was just an illusion. Waves do not freeze. I know this now. For that was a time in my youth when all was possible. The impossible never crossed my mind.
They say in America you can be whatever you want. You’re allowed to dream. Dream big. The bigger the dream the more American you are. Looking at Lake Michigan I would dream. Never a nightmare. I’m one of the lucky ones.
There are those who look upon the body of wonder with great fear. Perhaps something happened to them in their youth. Maybe a costly mistake in the unforgiving water. Maybe, they no longer dream. That dream died. So did a spirit. So did a spirit.
I have not seen Lake Michigan in years. I have not dreamt for some time. Oh that I might dream again some day. And walk on the shores of the great lake. Or, is my spirit gone too.