One of the first things I noticed after moving here to the north shore is that the lake has definite sidewise currents. On windless or even relatively calm days it’s especially evident. I can tell the currents are there because of the things are floating by. Ribbons of algae, duckweed, or frothy mucky yucky whatever stuff, and sometimes bands of broken-up ice; all drift by in their own little zone. The nature of what’s in these two shots, however, still eludes me. It almost looked like ruddy paint, or some other kind of liquid that didn’t merge into the surrounding water, but stayed separate, like oil and vinegar. Several bands came in to shore with the waves, but once there, they seemed to just disappear. Very strange. Poor Lake Erie – I know it’s been a lot worse off in decades past than it is now, but I still have no urge to get in there and swim. Not real sure about eating the fish, either.
To view more world wide water, or to show off your own, visit Water Wednesday.
The Cloud Messenger (Meghadūta) is a lyric poem by the respected Indian poet, Kālidāsa. The poem centers around a yaksa in exile. Longing for his beloved, waiting for him on a Himalayan mountain, he asks a cloud to take a message to her. The sights he tells the cloud it will see on its way make up most of the poem.
The idea of recording observations appeals to me. I thought The Cloud Messenger was the perfect title for a blog about the journey that we all make as we move through our days.
I'm a baby boomer who grew up dancing in the streets of Detroit during the classic Motown years, lived beside the Rocky Mountains for many years, now retired and living (and writing full time) in S. Ontario. I have one blog for rock 'n' roll oldies, and one for nature, poetry and life along the Lake.