Write a commentLake Ontario has seen it all. Storms that cracked the sky open, Winds that roared like gods, and winters that pressed their white thumbs against every shoreline stone.
It has watched nations rise, villages vanish, and generations carve their names into driftwood and memory. It has held the weight of history without ever losing its calm blue spine.
So when a man in Washington throws another tantrum, a childking stomping his feet, scribbling executive orders like crayon marks on the wall, Lake Ontario does not tremble.
He shouts. He points. He demands the world bend to his latest impulse. But Lake Ontario simply exhales, a long ancient breath that has outlived louder men and smaller tempests.
For what is an executive order to a body of water carved by glaciers, fed by rivers older than empires, and guarded by shorelines that have endured every kind of foolishness humans can invent?
The lake does not bow. It does not break. It does not shrink beneath the childish noise of Trump.
Lynne Hogan Lyons, Fulton
