A Dance With the Devil
There is a kind of beauty that heals and a kind of beauty that rips you open leaving you changed forever. Guess which one this story is about.
Silver-gray skies. Wind gusts topping 30 miles an hour sending shards of ice and snow against your skin like shrapnel. Gray waves raking the shoreline. It is just a few days after Thanksgiving. I am warm, well fed, and the Little Dipper is safely on the hard until spring. My feet may be on the mainland but on days like this, my mind is 26 miles out on the roiled chaos of the lake at the northern tip of Devils Island testing the memory of a deep winter journey a few years ago that was both a dream and a nightmare, one that changed forever my view of the Apostle Islands: a dance with the Devil.