IN a saburban golf coarse lies
far from the winding road
where golfers travel from hole, to hole.
but in the middle of all this golf caos is a Lake.
not a Swan but a
duck floats along
the waters surface.
A duck acting as graceful as a Swan.
H from the west and east, casts along the
W A T E R .
dancing across the surface pinpointing to the
BOTTOM-shows its true colors.
the Grass skirting the edge is green, and lush, each blade blending in perfectly.
Cat's tails move as though they are trying to say something.
Secluded, unseen from the rest of the world exept god, and the golfers.
To go to the Lake you must sneak past golfers, and let your mind WoNdEr.
Dreaming, listening is the only way to feel the energy. The Lake is surrounded by trees and Cat's tails, unseen by anyone.
But only I can speak the language of the Lake
Only I can translate the screatches, and voices from the Light and the Lake.
Only I can feel its presance.
Only the Lake can feel my body resting on it's grass skirt.
I am the one who notices the Lake's existance, when golfers drive by.
I Am one with the lake.