In autumn chill I sat at the edge of a deep blue lake.
It was placid as the moon in solitary space.
Silently as if stirred by the slightest briefest breath,
Perfect circles in a series broke the surface, moving outward.
I watched the widening whorl travel to the edge then bounce back.
Something—someone—had touched the water.
Maybe it was a bird dipping down...fish twitching its tail...
Dry leaf riding a draught making a splash landing.
When the waves had spent their energy, the lake becalmed again.
It shone purely, a polished mirror of the sky: blue to blue.
I felt the cold wet air rise but did not hear the wind swirl.
One hour lapsed, the surface blankly serene, whispering along the marge.
|A lake in Eastern Sierra, California|