Picked up the dogs at Grand Haven, then braved the bitter wind for a walk on Port Sheldon Beach, near where Karen once lived on the shores of Lake Michigan. Cold as ballz.
The white specks on the horizon were strange spots of light from the breaks in the clouds as the sun began to set. They looked like eruptions or explosions, and we were once again treated by Lake Michigan to something very strange and very cool.
The waves were cranking, the wind was whipping, and the ice formations were being built by the spray.
When we decided to head back to the car, the dogs got a little excited and ran toward some people pulling up in the parking lot. Over the howling the wind, we could faintly detect the sound of someone telling us to "get your fucking dogs out of here." They were very right - the signs clearly stated that - and we were clearly ready to get the fuck out of there anyway. We called it even and waved as we drove away.



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