Yuno

The lake has been looking like something from a horror flick lately. Every cloud that can be seen beyond the heavy mist covering the lake appears menacing in front of the typically gun metal gray skies of the local winters. The mist moves in and out, sometimes coming up to the shore and settling heavy and wet on the seawall, and sometimes hanging back a dozen or so yards, breathing.

Somewhere out to the west exists an orifice with lips manipulated by gusts emanating from somewhere near Hades. It comes and goes with Alberta clipper winds, sending frigid puffs of air first to the north, then south, whipping snow into eddies that dance above thin, but surprisingly wide, ice floes floating on the lake. Curlicues of snow cut into the surface, leaving spirals on the ice between the dark, dark water peeking from below.

Some wind gusts last long enough to push fat clumps of lake-effect snow in one direction, sending snow rollers running across the ice. The snow rollers end up looking like fluffy, plump cinnamon rolls sitting between icy spirals cut into the ice that undulates with each movement of the dark lake water.

Somewhere in the western sky there are big jagged teeth in that mouth from hell, I just know it.

The lake eventually freezes to a depth of a few inches and it then begins to look like something in the Midwest. Better.