Archive
03/15/10 - (3)
Flummoxed
A 63-degree March 15 in far-north Wisconsin (Just east of Lake Superior's southernmost tip) Is as inconceivable as the sun slipping into cosmic oblivion.
Yet that's what Monday, here in Lake Nebagamon, Is forcing my skeptical senses to believe, accept, embrace. Indeed, if you could only see me, right this moment,
In my jogging shoes, running shorts, and T-shirt, Power-walking East Waterfront Drive, back and forth, Up and down Lake Avenue, sweating, you'd think me a mirage.
It's just not possible, can't be, that this is June, July, August, Especially when snowmobiles and ATV's, dizzying the lake, Continually just miss hitting ice-fishing enthusiasts.
Now, I'm wondering if, come summer, when I'm here again, I won't be exercising in boots, long johns, and parka, While tourists boat and swim in the steamy waters.
03/15/10 - (3)
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