Emerald green

Bottle green

Every morning, the lake

Smoothes its surface every morning.

It tries

The wind disturbs its endeavor,

ruffles its smooth existence,

touches its mirror-smooth intention.

He likes the game so much -

the mountains, the boats, the trees

to reflect, to capture -

to bring them to him, to play along.

To bring them seductively into the water and

even if only as an image.

So I stand there, armed with

canvas, brush and paint and

try to do the same.

He attracts me, after trying

doing, painting - to be connected

lying on my back on the surface of the

surface of the water between sky

and water - resting in me.

So I thank the lake.