le lac

Running until the wind seems to be holding my heart in its two hands, I come to the clearing, around the corner where the road bends around the old farm, where the trees open up to a small lake: half lost in the smoky sky, the mossy limbs transforming into black reflections lingering on soft blue, ice in patterns, and mist brushing over into the distance. Sitting down, I watch the perfect symmetry as the branches greet each other in the water, the liquid light of sunset trembling in the distance. The clouds are blowing over the soft blue sky, and across the branches that dangle the husks of nuts in winter. The air is clear, and crisp, but the water blurs the colors and the reflections, changing the light: glace blue, to gold, to soft wispy pink, and then the deepest blue, drowning me into its vibrancy, as the day turns over into night.