Each morning, the ice is broken to free the boats the slabs lay scattered, defeated. At night, the freeze spreads like bacteria into a thick, new coat of secrecy. I remember my mother telling stories about the icebergs in Lake Michigan how those mountains of ice terrified her childself. When I saw the frozen Atlantic for the first time I could only gape in awe of its primitive power. What a manmade way to live: United States Coast Guard breaking the ice each morning for the Islanders commute to work or Wal-mart. I stood there gazing at the captive ocean absentmindedly holding my breath only remembering the necessity of oxygen when I saw those cracks, where the warmer tide still fought to escape out from under the ice.