I left my sock in Lake Superior.

I recently ventured to Grand Marais, MN (if you've never been there, really - you must go). My soul was soothed, as usual, by listening to the Lake Superior waves crash relentlessly into the shore. Much to my delight, the afternoon I arrived it was beautiful (do not reference above image - that was from Sunday, when it was the craziest waves I'd ever seen).

I trekked out to Artist's Point and found the perfect spot to sit and relish in the shining sun. It was so warm that I decided to take off my Toms and socks (if you know me, this isn't surprising for me to enjoy my barefooted-ness) and placed them beside me on the ledge. All was right in the world.

So... I sat. Pondered. Soaked up that sunshine. Then my feet got cold (I attribute that to the clouds starting to cover up the sun... but it could have just as well been that 40-degree lake I was sitting next to...). So I reached for my socks. As my hand grabbed for my rolled up sock, the sock actually started to tumble away from me slowly. My better judgment kept me from lunging after the rogue sock (as the thought of dashing my head upon those beautiful rocks didn't appeal to me in that moment, cold feet or not). I watched it roll, slowly, off the edge of the rock face. I paused to listen for the faint splash below... yep, it had made it into the water.

And did you know that socks don't float? Yep. Not at all.