Jan 24

Jan 24 Bare Trees

“Bare trees, gray light. ...
Bare trees, gray light
I was alone in the cold of a winters day
”

— Bare Trees, Fleetwood Mac, from Bare Trees (1972)

Today was a Faye Dunaway day, both spiritually and photographically. The fog was as intense as I have ever seen it in Chicago. Initially I thought I would walk along the lake until I could see the Drake Hotel at the base of the northern skyline. There was no point. I couldn’t even see the buildings across the street. Interestingly, the fog was more white than gray. I can only speculate, but I assume the unseasonably warm temperatures were causing the moisture from the melting snow cover to rise up, taking an undifferentiated form. There must no cloud cover above the mist, with the sun accounting for the white illumination.

As I walked, I passed under the bridge north of Fullerton that covers the canal leading to the inland harbor at Diversey. Until then, I hadn’t realized just how cold it must have been during the last few days. The waterway was filled with broken bits of ice, undulating as the currents below swished the water lying under the ice back and forth. Geese and ducks were everywhere, but I saw no bicyclists and just a few dog walkers. The city was very quiet, with just the occasional car and bus passing by.

It took me three hours before I reached the zoo. Normally, it is a half-hour to forty-five minute walk. I stopped often to look at the enlarged squirrels scurrying along fences and branches. Winter still has at least two months to go, which probably explains why they are still so fat. I saw no animals in the zoo. The lion house is under renovation and everyone else is tucked away indoors. Not me. Throughout my journey, I couldn’t help but focus on the bare trees. When will the buds emerge? Not soon enough!

I eventually found myself sitting at the bar in R.J. Grunts. When I emerged, the fog had turned grey, with the apartment buildings on Clark now clearly visible. It was raining, but I knew the promised three to six inches of snow would not materialize this close to the lake. It was just too warm. I returned to the real world, just in time to hear Adam Schiff make his final futile pitch. Like the trees, the Republicans are bare, but they nature’s cycle offers them no refuge. Not even a fig leaf. Just bare.

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