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The Lake

People would come to the lake on still days, when the water was a pale blue mirror, shiny, cool and flawless. They would sit for hours reflecting on the stillness.

It seemed that while they watched, the lake continued to be as it always was, occasionally a ripple, perhaps a gull skiing on the surface. Old Willows dipped their gnarled toes into the water, as if, should the water please them, their giant trunks would slip gingerly into the coolness for an afternoon dip. The sun when it was low would flood the scene with gold and in the night when the moon was full, the lake would shimmer like silver.

Children came, and played and departed again, now and then a mother or father would steal away for a moment to glimpse the lake and the trees and the sky. Nothing changed - yet everything changed.

The lake was, as it always was, but with each moment it welcomed the presence of something new. A breath of wind from the west, a drop of spring rain, a warm smile from the summer sun.

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