Last night a pool of dark shade crept over and the boy stepped out of the lake. The moon was a silver hair locked beneath a spoonful of sweeping stars. The stillness of the tarn caused him to look back and see the reflection of the whole universe. As if he just appeared birthed from a black hole and sent to this new and unfamiliar place. A place that once was but failed to live up to its potential. The boy grabbed his spectacles and the mist became more clear and defined as if a ghost was controlling his aching temper from causing a bluster that would thrust this mere up and into oblivion. The hot day became a cool night. As if the seasons held no sway around this peek of God’s perfection. An abstergent dip into a desolate sluice. This boy was born of the lake. He spent all of his time as if his very life force depended on the rise of this unknown basin. A lagoon in a wood.
