Two times this weekend, when the weather warmed up slightly and the cabin fever became too much, I got outside and wandered on the deserted shore of Clevelandia. Sleep can wait, naps can be taken later, I love the beach at all seasons, but especially now, when there are skeletal driftwood trees washed up on the shore, the surf crystallized crunches under my shoes, and the water gleams silver under winter sun.
And then yesterday I went out with my camera on a drive, which I haven't done in awhile but there's something that stirs me about the rust-colored palette under grey skies. I would have gone under the railroad trestle to shoot what would have undoubtedly been good graffiti, but I was alone, and occasionally I've come across men sleeping and starving feral dogs so I slowed down, turned the music low, and shot what I could from the side of the car.
The Flats were quiet as anything, and I got out by the bridges and walked down by the old warehouses and wished I had the bigger camera with me. Still, I'm happy enough with these shots.
And then I went down to the park on the other side, and the breakers must have caused the piles of ice that were everywhere, these broken sheets piled up against the shoreline, swirling out into the lake all Goldsworthy. There were a lot of people down there, maybe the warmer weather, maybe the cabin fever. Some guy dressed as Mario in tights with pompoms, a bunch of The Kids, including a big Moroccan contingent, mugging for the their iPhone cameras with the pastel sky and sheets of ice behind them, young Muslim couples and old men.
I'm sure with the sun out and the forty degrees, this has all melted, but to catch that transient moment at its most beautiful feels like some kind of little accomplishment.
