SPRING LAKE SINGING

Sunday's bright sunlight dictated my decision to go to Como Lake with my dear friend to walk and talk. I've been there several times this winter, each time noting the changes along the shoreline, footprints in the snow (a wolf obviously crossed the lake last week), and enjoy the sense of serenity the area offers with tree-covered tall mountains surrounding the frozen lake.

Mary and I are 30-year friends. We've weathered a lot of changes in each others' lives. We were not jogging along the rocky shore, but meandering: reviewing our lives, sharing insight and appreciating our resilience. But periodically I heard rumblings, as if a truck some ways off was off-loading boulders. Not logical, really; I kept listening. Finally it was obvious the lake itself offered these noises, periodically, as if a huge under-ice wave was rolling back and forth the length of the 3-mile lake. Apparently large air bubbles swim in front of this invisible motion and, like our intestines after a challenging meal, offer grumblings and moans for our delight.

We stopped to appreciate this communication from the depths. Punctuating it were high chime-like sounds as thin silvery sheets of ice banked up along the edges would let loose, at the slightist vibration of the water. Like little fairy bells, they sounded the piccolo comic relief to the basso profundo.

So lakes which I've experienced as silent, do in fact have voices. They are yearning for the warmth to melt the ice-shrouded layers as I am longing to discard at least two layers of clothing so skin and sun can intermingle once again.

When I am humbled by nature's predictability, her diversity and her grandeur, my own small battles fall away,like those ice sheets. I knew about spring break up, but never experienced it (though this was only a prologue). I wanted to bundle up, find a flat rock to sit on, and listen to the song until sunset. I may return today to do just that.