This winter, I am dreaming of cycling. A long summer trip, from one end of Lake Ontario to the other. And when that is done, there are four other Great Lakes to do.
Why not? The giant blue beads of water shimmer in my imagination. Straddling two nations, the lakes bisect two realities.
The southern lands, loved by the sun. Fields of rice, tobacco and cotton swaying in the wind. Crops picked by hands blacken by god, calloused by the shackles, blistered by the whips.
The northern earth, littered with snow. Too cold for whip-fed crops to grow.
Town and villages along the lake twinkled in the night. How to reach the northern lights, hiking without torchlights?
Blue body, the in-between border. Cross over, and find a new order. Cross under and drink the abyss. The taste of that first crossing filling the mouth.
I dream of cycling around the lakes. It’s adventure and a tick on my bucket-list.