The Long Now

Untitled, 2019.

Untitled, 2019.

The lake's edge is where I go not to think. I don't even clear my mind because the shore is another territory. The sensory flow is so thick, there's no room for human preoccupations or emptiness.

When the storm came through on the weekend, the waves on Lake Ontario were rough and high. They crashed down with the ice and snow, building up a solid extension from the shore, 10 meters into and above the water. Wanting to see the edge, when the weather settled down, I walked out onto the ice shelf, trudging through and over a bunch of ice boulders to an abrupt, cliff-like end; below, on the water, clear sheets of ice shifted back and forth creaking like an old see-saw. The winter ducks gathered just a bit further, enjoying their social racket and the grey skies relaxed just enough to let in a smudge of colour.