The boys and I went to the beach after Lloyd's preschool let out, about 11:15. Today's temperature is supposed to find it's way to 53. My hands were only cold after bulldozing the shore of wet pebbles with gloves that became soaked. I was surprised to see so much snow that was really ice behind the shore--we had to cross it to reach the water--and the corner rocks of the breakwall layered in ice edged smooth by gentle ripples. I was surprised because all snow that wasn't plowed has melted as of today. What piled it on the beach, several yards from the water, is a mystery. The lake had patches of ice in the distance and no waves. No boats makes no waves. And the ice calms the water too I imagine. Head on, the water looked completely still. Its profile, however, appeared to be breathing; rhythmically crawling in and falling back out. The big ball of light was at our backs, the atmosphere so thick little kids mistook it for the moon. Seagulls on the water sang different songs. The church across from the parking lot rang a bell song. There was a train. There is always a train. We call it out when we hear it anyway, because the sound is comforting, deep down. Lloyd discovered how wonderful a handful of pebbles thrown into the water at once sounds. It was music too. I found a couple pieces of silver to add to my collection. One looks like it was a watch screwdriver now smooth and without the screwdriver part. Another is folded up like an accordion, with every edge rounded, my favorite part. Lloyd threw ice in the water and watched it float. We left it floating there. We left footprints in the pebbly sand and impressions of activity on the shoreline. I'm not sure where Lloyd left the long, white driftwood he tapped the melting ice of the breakwall with.