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Mornings at the lake

There’s some power to a lake. Not just the currents and the little weather off the shore that brings cooler temperatures. If you sit by a lake you get a sense of timeless power, patience, calm and both purpose and purposeless. It’s like a microcosm of life when I sit here in the morning with coffee. Perhaps I decide to write a post. The lake goes on. Maybe I watch people strolling by. The lake is patient. It’s waiting. Maybe for a breeze to stir it’s crests. Maybe a lone boat or canoe slip the water and I can hear the slap of the oars on the water. The man deftly wending his way to the middle of the lake with effort. But then coasting. The wind and water has its way with him. Perhaps, I think, he takes coffee out to have some time in solitude and see perhaps me sitting far enough away to preserve his moments.

The latte always lets me sit longer as it slowly cools. Hanoi is cooler sometimes in the mornings when spring opens it’s arms. Those arms embrace but hold me away.

There’s always something about a lake we cannot know. It’s mystery is that it is. People will second guess and hypothesize and wonder if the fish and birds may know. They both touch and are touched by the water. I think not though. They perhaps know some of its timelessness but beyond is the spirit inviolate. It holds the wind and touches your face and makes you lonely and fulfilled.

It’s all and nothing and all within.

This lake.

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