5/5 Gopi K. 4 months ago on Google
The
season
or
time
of
day
does
not
influence
the
overall
experience
of
visiting
The
Lake.
Though
indeed
it
does
have
a
proper
name,
I
refer
to
The
Lake
as
such
because
its
living,
breathing,
constantly
changing
essence
is
only
really
captured
by
this
informal
name.
On
a
Summer
Morning,
one
may
look
forward
to
gazing
upon
a
still
mirror
showing
the
reflection
of
an
orange
sun
as
it
rises
from
behind
the
hill
which
acts
as
the
centerpiece
of
the
opposing
shore’s
landscape.
As
it
burns
off
the
steamy
wisps
of
fog
that
delicately
float
just
above
the
surface
of
the
water,
the
sun
warms
the
chilled
night
air
and
gives
the
unmistakable
Lake
Smell
more
fragrance.
As
the
day
advances,
The
Lake
changes
from
a
delicately
lapping
expanse
of
glass
into
a
raging
mass
charged
with
foam,
but
only
if
it
is
so
in
the
mood.
If
it
is
not,
the
rhythmic
pace
of
the
gentle
waves
slowly
grows
and
falls,
giving
the
same
appearance
as
that
of
a
field
of
grass
rippling
in
the
wind.
In
the
winter,
of
course,
there
are
no
waves
to
ripple,
but
even
though
movement
is
not
immediately
apparent,
the
booming
and
snapping
of
the
ice
as
it
expands
reassures
one
that
The
Lake
is
still
alive.
While
studying
the
differing
patterns
of
ice,
one
notices
black
patches
of
Jell-O
with
bubbles
trapped
throughout,
a
leaf
in
clear
amber,
and
strips
of
creamy
whiteness.
These
sights
are
taken
in
as
one
listens
to
the
harsh
music
of
whistling
winter
wind
across
the
frozen
expanse.
The
sound
of
The
Wind
is
uniquely
beautiful,
especially
when
snow
falls
like
powdered
sugar
and
one
is
treated
to
dancing
as
it
splays
out
across
the
surface
or
is
sustained
for
a
short
second
in
suspended
swirling
shafts.
The
Snow
Dances
are
rivaled
in
graceful
beauty
by
the
Summer
Rainstorms
that
sweep
across
the
water,
drumming
a
martial
tune
until
the
storm
passes
and
the
trees
