I stood astounded with the fact that I just sank knee deep into the crisp new snow. Walking wasn't such a natural movement anymore. My steps had to be well placed. There was no path to follow as most people heeded to the sign that said the lookout was closed. Most people would turn back, but to hell with signs, there is a sight to be seen. To be knee deep in snow with the sun in all it's glory to the south of me was not enough. I had to touch the frozen lake, to feel my feet slide across it's surface, to test it's strength. To the north, the dark gray sky, winter's reminder that it is still her season, beckoned me to turn around...to stomp back up the hill, to flee into the warmth of the car. I ignored all sense. I touched the frozen water. It's surface crackle around my soles. I hesitated. My eyes wondered from my feet, across the surface of the lake, to the five mile stretch of green and gray steel that linked lower Michigan with the Upper Peninsula. It appeared tiny in the landscape of ice and snow. I approached closer. The bridge was still insignificant. I stood by a rock that probably disappeared in the spring time with the rising water. I dared not walk any further. My snow covered jeans were beginning to harden. The northerly wind was beginning to take its toll. My co-worker beckoned me to get out of this cold. It was time to turn around. We hopped in the car and crossed the bridge. Winter had froze the crashing waves that normally attacked the towers. It was like time had stopped and the currents were waiting for spring to give permission for them to move again. The surface was littered with shards of broken glass at places where gravity had pulled down the breaking crests. The lake became a gigantic ice sculpture. I expected a less notable scenery the rest of our journey back home, but the winter storm that passed through the night was a skillfull artist. He littered the forest with his masterful work. Driving down I-75 was like driving through a forest of diamonds. Little particles of ice grew from the branches and shimmered with all the intricacies that only a master artisan can add with his skillful hand. The golden sunlight bounced between the leaves of ice. It danced. It played. It traveled between the trees and followed us through the forest. It chased us and I welcomed it. This was a dance that I was willing to just watch. I didn't need to participate in this splendid movement of sun and water. I can imagine the song that they were dancing to. It was a warm and simple tune. Quite a contrast to the roar of winter that I had to face earlier in the week. I didn't want their dance to end, but the sun couldn't remain up forever. The Michigan winter sky is magnificent. Layer upon layers of clouds stack upon each other rallying to be the closest to the setting sun. The horizon stretches forever and ever with all that grows upon this earth. Each living soul enchanted by the battle between night and day. How can they not be? The sky soaking up the colors of the sun until it becomes blood red. The snow glowing with the last light of the day. The ground and sky becoming one as the sun is put to bed by the night. Patches of forest becomes mountains in the distance. It's a battle without casualty. The stars will shine to tell the earth that it meant no harm. The sun with all its energy will bring birth to the blossoms that flood the spring air day and night. The night will let it rise again the next morning. There is an understanding that is whispered by the wind. It is something us humans will never understand. Our battles always end with casualties.