My Lake

[Originally written on my way to visit Alfred, November of last year.]

As we flew out over Lake Michigan, a tear slipped from the corner of my eye and slowly rolled down my cheek. I was so happy.  Though miles away, seeing the lake made me feel close to home, as if Mommy and Daddy were an arm’s length away. 

This lake, this wide shimmering body of blue, this lake is part of me.  Though it took the life of one of my friends and still holds the body of his wife, I bear it no ill will.  Theirs were not the first, nor last it has taken.  But it does not know. 

It ripples on, beats against the shores, rages on the breakwaters and laps onto the sands.  This lake that I have enjoyed from every side, climbing dunes in Indiana, sitting on the beach in Michigan, walking along the cliffs in Wisconsin and gazing at hungrily from a plane leaving Illinois. 

This lake that filled my marching band days with the smell of dead fish, that kept us ten degrees cooler than the next county over, that brought us extra snow, delightfully heavy snow perfect for snowmen and snow forts. 

This lake that gave me beautiful sunrises, the red ball reflecting below, yellow rays streaking out in all directions, a mirror of water and sky both purple at the edges, a glow of pink slowly lightening into a bright clear day.The lake that tumbles under my favorite bridge. 

How much of this lake have I drunk, swan, bathed in, played in! 

Yes, this lake is truly great.  It is my Great Lake.