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Beth Greening photo |
I awakened last night to pounding waves and boisterous winds. It is a good sound, a reassuring sound. My beloved Lake Michigan reminded me once again that it can display as many moods as a maturing female. Last night it sounded like an angry teenager slamming her door, denied her demanded rights. Today that teenager has lost its rage, but still is dancing prettily with white caps lacing her song.
Just a few days ago, the lake was a capricious baby blue. Twinkling in the sunlight; batting tiny ripples of giggles at anyone who would listen. Like a toddler waddling from one smitten adult to another: arms wide open for hugs and support.
I think, though, my favorite Lake Michigan role is at sunset: when it flings a ruby necklace across its velvet surface, God opening his jewel box. The frisky clouds cast shadows of lavender, mauve, brilliant red, flaming orange; like me as I move forward in age, a combination of action and muted quiet, dressed in years of laughter, sadness, and delight.
Lake Michigan holds unto it all.
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