It was the sunset that originally drew me down to the water’s edge, the soft angled light of the end of a winter’s day. A strong wind cutting across the bay made me put my hood up tight around my ears and so it took me a while to hear it.
The ice was moving, fast.
The whole bay wore a sheet of ice the thickness of a strong window pane, no, not the whole bay. There was open water to the north and so the south wind seemed to sense that opening and was shoving the ice sheet up the bay like a frozen sail. There are sounds we associate with Lake Superior - waves breaking, water sloshing inside of the sea caves - but this was its winter’s voice, its winter’s dance.
I thought of breaking glass. I thought of the slow grind of tectonic plates. Then, I didn’t think at all. I just closed my eyes and simply listened to the voice of winter.
(play the video with the sound up)
— Jeff Rennicke (all photography by the author unless otherwise noted)
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