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The Lake

Water moves like ripples over a

smooth glass lake, pushed by

a gentle exhalation of wind

that stirs

a symphony of cascading leaves

which flutter to their

new beginning

on the earth

of dirt, stone, creature.

Mountain crouches over the water

twisted spine

of some long-dead creature

its body turned to watchful stone

dusted in snow

a blanket too small to cover

its frozen contours

as it waits for the white sky

to claim it with winter.

Wind caresses the water

touching sentinel trees

with soft, cold fingers

dressed in a coat of invisibility

yet as tangible as a bear's hot breath.

Bird circles over the water

wind urging it higher

it climbs, reveling

in its strength

its majesty

until a black speck

the bird plummets

returning to the reality

of hunger, survival, earth.

Girl sits at the water

she absorbs her world

drinking the chill air

filling her lungs with wilderness

that floods her veins

until she feels

viciously

dangerously

wonderously

alive.

The lake is deep, cold, wild

a footprint in the landscape

of rugged trees and heather

and frozen mountains

assuming life

from the wind stirring it

into rippling motion

expending its angry energy

against the brush-covered shores

until the wind quiets

and the water stills.

Now the lake sleeps.



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