Forest Lake

There was an eagle up in the air when I was swimming. The last day of August. The best time of the year. In the melancholy warmth of late summer the swimmer seemed more out of place than the eagle circling around the treetops. Then the eagle shrieked and his voice stayed in the air almost as long as the echo of my movement in the water. So still, the lake was holding its breath, waiting for the cold of winter and the ruthlessness of the autumn winds. So clear and so cool the lake glimmered in the evening light, completely unaware of the places spoiled and polluted, deceivingly confident on its might. Far and removed it has remained so. A bright jewel. A precious treasure. An unexpected treat. The sand under my feet was cold when I walked away. I looked back on my way and saw green and yellow mosaic in the trees. And the glimmering water.