The lake in Winter

Maybe the tree fell, perhaps it grew that way out across the lake where there was more room, more light than on the tangled, crowed banks. But now, like a gnarled finger, it points across the wintry lake.

Part of me - the little boy part, I guess - wants to clamber out along the tree, to see how it feels perched at the end. Probably like sitting on a branch looking out at a lake but somehow, in an undefinable way, it would be better than that.

The lake would be mine, a kingdom of chilly waters enclosed within the hills, their rocks and their wooded banks beside the waters. I could command it, sweep my arm across and see it respond to my presence. I would be its master.

But that isn't to be, I left that magic behind with my nine-year-old self. Now a different spell is cast, I am instead struck by its beauty, the stark appeal of a soft winter scene beside the lake.

....