At the end of a walk the head dreams of lost memories,
hoping for a home among the waves.
I see an unsafe shore, a dock waiting for collapse, a home
waiting to be destroyed. As dawn breaks, a
new beginning harkens life,
eternally iterative, a severance from entropy. I hold my breath, asking,
begging the moment to linger. It’s crisp stillness and serene spartanness holds
my senses in place, a reprieve from societal expectation and traumatic
aftershocks. The water is so clear that one’s reflection bleeds into it. One
hopes the rocks on the lake floor are forgiving. I stand back and take in my
surroundings. When was this makeshift outpost constructed? By whom? I lose
interest quickly and my mind refocuses on the significance of the lake and the
moment.
This repository of reflection, sitting at the edge of the
Plains and the Rockies, abuts Glacier National Park, an icon of American Freedom
and Anthropocene induced destruction. How transient is this lake on the
geological timescale? This realization, the sheer improbability of our
simultaneous existence, generates a greater feeling of awe that courses through
me with every cardiac pulsation.
Duck Lake and its halcyon waters reflect a tranquility I
wish to achieve.
