This life is a gift I could never had imagined.
Earlier this afternoon I drove three hours north, took the snake-wound road to Northport and drove my Verano up the plank of the Arnie Richter on the last ferry run of the day. It isn’t hard to miss, since it only runs from the mainland to the island twice a day during these winter months. Once my car is snugly parked against the right side of the boat, I slip out my door and take the stairs to the top of the ferry, set my blanket and purse down, and scan the waterlines white with giant rocks of ice. The tufts of blue in the air collide nicely with the rolling clouds, and soon I hear the clink of anchor rising from the water to free us into Lake Michigan. The ferry churns to life, and we are off, taking a new route from the summer to avoid the massive expanse of thick ice mid-water. We move east of a smaller island as a flock of winter birds glide through the air, cut above the water and raise as one into the sky. Light slicing catches my ear, and I guess what it is with a smile half playing on my lips. When I rise and peer over the side, I am right. Thin ice creaking and breaking apart by the bow of the boat. The smaller pieces roll over the ice glistening like diamonds in the sunlight before hitting its edge and tumbling down into the black water.
I am the only one outside, seated at the top of the ferry, face welcoming each puff of cold air that wraps itself across my skin. I am warm enough in my oversized teal hat, matching gloves, blue winter jacket, and thin blanket folded over my legs. I’m cutting through Lake Michigan, chancing Death’s Door, and the day is alive with a million molecules that shift and stack into bare-spindly trees and light bouncing off the frozen wake. I am alive, and I am here to drink fully from this cup pressed in my hands.
Hold it all with wonder, with awe, with tender care. All is a gift, glory draped over a split-wide sky. We near the dock and I shake my blanket, stretch my legs and take two staircases to my car. It’s an adventure just to get over here, and my journey just now begins as I wind down familiar roads. Joy can’t help itself jumping from my chest, expanding through my body to fill me with a grace I’m still getting used to. I remind myself to simply receive it, allow the gift and be grateful. To see the divine-drenched shadows dancing across light on the water, listen to the crunch of snow beneath my boots and marvel at how my steps don’t press down into the hard, compact snow. Soak in a peach and raspberry sunset across the bay, dipped in lavender and spread along a blue-dusted dusk. These are the moments it’s best to be alive, the settling of my bones into the right spaces inside me, when I rearrange and find my skin fits more aligned along me than it did hours ago.
All is a gift, glory set at just the right angle.
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