The Lake at Noon

It is midday, and the lake is so still that the sky lies upon it like a second world. I sit at the edge of an old wooden dock, legs swinging freely, toes brushing the water’s surface. A distant loon calls once, and then silence returns.

The dragonflies flicker past, shimmering blue and green. They skim the surface, dipping like dancers, never staying in one place. I try to count them and fail.

The world feels paused, held in place by sun and heat and quiet.

Behind me, the pine trees creak with gentle wind. The dock beneath me groans, old and worn, like a companion who no longer minds the weight.

I let my hand slip into the water. It’s cold at first, then soft, as if accepting me.

There are no answers here, but no questions either.

Just the water, the sky, and the subtle awareness that for now, nothing more is needed.