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The Lake

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The Lake sits quietly, minding it's own business
The songs of birds wonder rapidly, stumbling over each other
Brisk morning air awakens anything that comes into it's presence
Fish jump, and wind blows, making soft ripples in the reflection of the sunrise painted onto the water.
Fog rolls in over the Lake, hiding a view worth a thousand words
The damp air feels steamy and sticky to the skin, then carried away by a short cool breeze.
Everything is awake now, the sun peeking over the trees
I sit and stare quietly, as the Lake speaks to me.





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