Most mornings I walk along Lake Michigan, which is a mile straight east from my house. This summer, it’s been like bathwater, so I walk through the surf.
To swim on the Illinois side of Lake Michigan, you have to be serious about it. Most summers, the water temp stays in the 50s into June, and never gets much above the high 60s. This year, it’s been measured as warm as 81. The shallows barely register as cold, even after a storm (of course, we’ve only had two storms all summer). The first time I ever waded on the Michigan side, I couldn’t believe how warm it was. To me, lake = cold.
Walking is one of those gifts in a crowded urban life, where sensory input creates this constant psychic noise. On my walks, I let my mind just wander, or empty. Yesterday, I scribbled down the random thoughts that wandered in. It’s walking as poetry.
Walking to Lake Michigan
Don’t forget to look at the fish pond. Are those babies?
The water is still so warm but too rough to skip rocks this morning
I wonder how close I can get to a gull?
If Isaac gets here, should I walk in the rain?
Where’s that dog who likes me?
Hey– I could blog this!
I really should start jogging
And I need to make more granola and that ground cherry jam
90,000 people live within a mile of this beach but I count only 6 people
Where are they?
They can’t all be at work
The early morning people are all skinny
You can see the sand in the churning waves
I love finding vintage hippie playgrounds
Made of found materials from before they standardized and commoditized them
Washing the sand from my feet