The frozen lake.

                                     Along the margins of the lake

My sons in law want to go fishing on the lake on this sunny crisp winter afternoon, one of the last days of the year, and I decide that here is my chance to make some interesting photos. The old wood and canvas Chestnut canoe is lifted down from the cross beams in my studio, my little Zodiac inflatable raft comes too and shortly we are launching just down the road at Weston Lake. The lake is almost completely frozen over with the thinnest of triangle patterned ice, like what you might find on a mud puddle on a frosty morning, but this end of the lake is still open and gently rippled in a fitful breeze. The canoe drifts to the center, and the fly rods are soon in action. I follow, awkwardly propelling myself and camera with the ridiculous set of little oars that came with the raft.

I get some lovely shots of the canoe and then drift towards the shore with the breeze. The winter rains have raised the lake level a foot above summer standard and I can see water lilies suspended below the surface on their now too short stalks as I drift by. The leafless willow bushes that line the shore reflect across them in a beautifully complex pattern. I came for the canoe, but here are riches indeed.

Soon I am ready to head home to warm up, but my eyes have seen the most amazing things along the forgotten margins and across the icy surface of the glittering lake. Who say that love is only warm? I have felt Winter`s icy heart today and know it too supports this beautiful world in its cold embrace.