If it weren’t for the seemingly dead trees, I’d swear that I was walking on a lunar landscape sometimes. Here in Thomas Bay, the water has frozen, thawed, refrozen, and heaved several times until it looks very otherworldly. The sun beats down heavily but seems to have no impact on the ice, although the glare coming off the white snow can be blinding.
A dead tree peaks out from the middle of the frozen mass, happy now to be the star of the show. This tree, or what’s left of it, must sit in silence throughout the spring, summer, and fall while the rest of life bursts with color and brilliance. This tree nods its head in defeat through three seasons, but when the ice comes, this tree takes on a ghostly sort of life. No longer growing or breathing, it becomes a macabre sort of caricature of its living relatives, commanding attention and breaking up an otherwise total sea of frozen white ice.
It still serves a purpose. It reminds us that in a season of death, there are varying degrees of dead.
|A lunar landscape.|