I came up here by myself for five or so days to finish recording Red Circle. I was alone, recording, drinking, eating, reading and watching television: the 1st season of LOST on a laptop. I was recovering from some things, and anticipating a few others. It was an interesting few days. I barely spoke to anyone. 

This frozen Huron landscape, as it does every winter that is good and cold, was just starting to take shape. Snow and sand and dust sprayed from the water, altering the shoreline. Water buffeted the growing ice slab, landing on its surface, complicit in building this little winter continent.

I walked down to the beach from the house just before midnight with some whisky and a tune in my head. I stood on the beach and watched what I could see of these formations coming to be in the darkness. I toasted myself. I toasted my parents and friends. And I toasted this beautiful place. 

I've lived here for 32 years. Whenever a cold winter comes the landscape changes completely. It never gets old because it's never the same; its potency doesn't seem to diminish. Part of this place is mine, much as I am part of it.