Friday the 13th

Last night, before going to bed, I turned the heat down, with the lights off, and awakened this morning to indoor temperature of 55 F. The over-night outside temperature was in the low teens. Ice that had all but melted, 6 to 8 inches of it from the previous 3 months, reformed on our Emerald Lake this morning, not half-a-foot of it, just a thin sheet covering the entire lake, a thicker slice close by in the shallower end. My eye was drawn to the new ice by a pair of Mallard ducks, trying to forge their way through the ice, breaking a path of open water.

Lake ice news peppers our print and electronic media. There is piece on the Michigan side of Lake Huron, where ice cubes, about one foot square, were driven through the East facing picture window of a lake front home. Mounds of similar sized cubes were piled in the home's yard; like an ice cube dispenser had dumped these blocks out of a bucket.

Nothing as dramatic for us. I am just noting how reluctantly Winter is in giving up its seasonal place to Spring.