Lake Ice

March 4 2020

How long the ice will hold,

crossing safely

through soft wet snow

where meltwater pools

on warm afternoons.

And underneath

ice of indeterminate thickness,

a cantilever bridge

that sooner or later

is doomed to fail.

Under my weight

it creaks and cracks and gives a little,

and out in the middle

I imagine plunging through.

Will running help,

a weightless dash, too swift to notice?

Or tip-toeing across

mincing lightly,

as if you could deceive

its tensile strength?

The year the deer were caught

were they crossing unaware?

Or chased by wolves

and willing to chance the danger?

When they found themselves stranded

on broken fragments of ice,

before briefly thrashing about

in freezing water

and sinking out of sight.

The passivity

of a prey animal

in the face of certain death.

Eventually stopping its struggling

and simply accepting fate,

oblivious to pain

and mercifully undisturbed

by existential angst.

How cold shocks the body,

muscles seized and throat constricting

impotently gasping for air.

So I wonder, should the ice give way

how easily I, too, would appear to go.

With no one there to see

my eyes wide with terror,

hear the whispered screams

choking out breathless.

When I slip beneath the surface,

silent

seamless

unobserved.

The passivity of a prey animal, as in all those nature documentaries where you see the wildebeest eventually stop struggling and submit to the lions, that faraway look in its glazed-over eyes. As if a flood of endorphins is easing its journey. As if the mind detaches. As if, with no knowledge of finality or death, it is capable of calm acceptance.

Every spring it's a crap-shoot as to when the ice will become unsafe. I worry about the dogs, who sometimes dash out during break-up, lost in play. And sometimes wild animals are caught in the crossing and drown.

If you've ever fallen into really cold water, you'll know the feeling: when your muscles don't work; when you get that choking/hyperventilation sensation of gasping for air but can't catch a breath.

The common impression of a drowning person is of someone thrashing, splashing, and calling out. But what they often look like is very different, and an experienced lifeguard knows this: an exhausted body slipping beneath the surface silent, seamless, unobserved. If you were to notice, you might see the look of desperation in their eyes. Otherwise, they simply disappear.