A quiet lake exists before me
The waters as still as still can be
The blue, blue sky is nothing but a canopy to its understated turquoise beauty.
I throw a pebble across the water
Three loci of concentric circles appear
As if disillusioned by the sudden agitation
Seeking outwardly the disruptor
Only to go back to sleep.
Across the borders of this lake
There are trees, so many.
Dauntingly green, almost as still
Their silence as if preserving some enticing secret
Across the lake, my voice rings out
Where am I?
Who am I?
There is no response, no sudden revelation or epiphany.
There is nothing but the promise of an answer
Reverberating with my echoes across the lake
And into the woods.
Image: Misty Lake by Olga Yakubouskaya