Flotsam

On a misty March morning Lake Erie appeared as I had never seen that. And, isn't that so delusional of me. To think that I can speak of all its shores albeit my exposure is to the river mouths of northern Ohio. But, here she was neither exhausted and filthy or the secluded verdant of reserves. Instead the lake was cluttered. I counted at minimum 7 floating tree trunks. One had the mottled lizard skin of a sycamore and the other the deep grooves of cottonwood. 

These were not mere logs. There were tree trees. The trees you hang tire swings from and then your grandkids swing from that same swing. The kind of tree that when it falls it sloughs off earth and sword slices through a house. These fall and somone is screaming "FUCK!" And there were seven of them. Seven "FUCKS!" floating and bobbing in the sea glass green of the water. Around them, like Jovain gas giants gobbling up moons, there were living rafts. Woven cat tails and roots of smaller trees spun by wind and wave into an entourage. And these islands clacked against one another. I had to listen with all ears and shush my kids but they knocked with a soft push.

Were these fresh falls from the winter? The high water this season cleaved of much of the lakeshore. Or were these veteran homespun Mariners? The cottonwood had the core hollowed out as the heartwood gave to the wind. That must take years. Right?

The whole scene had a video game aesthetic. A platformer level from deep evil minds with logs floating on water. It had the look of the after effects of an Athenian naval battle. The final scene in Jaws after the Orca blows. It was a mess but surely a lighter man could walk to the break wall balances on flotsam.