Not a cloud in the bright blue sky, the fathomless intense blue that we see only in mid-winter. The sunlight sparkles as it reflects off the ripples that scurry about the water surface of the mostly open harbor. The harbor's two entry rock sentries look majestic in their brilliant white ice coats as they ride in the blue sea. A gentle west breeze pushes some remaining ice pack into the harbor's east bay. The open roads are suddenly filled with folks out for a Sunday ride.
Temperatures creep into the mid-forties.
I yield to it all, and despite a continuing soreness and exhaustion from last week's medical adventure, Abby and I leave camp for a stroll in the warm sun. We are a pathetic sight, the wonderdog trotting awarkwardly along on her three good legs, and I favoring a right leg that is yet to recover from the fem stop and surgical affronts. We hobble to the Shoreline, our intended turn-about point. The invigorating lake cleansed air, a warm sun on the face, the soothing sound of water on the move. I wish I could.