The lake lies still as polished slate, its surface a mirror for the sky. Along the shore, slender reeds bend with the whisper of an unseen breeze, while the scent of damp earth and pine hangs in the air. At dawn, mist rises like a ghostly breath, softening the outline of distant hills. The water is dark and deep, cool to the touch, reflecting the world upside down—a silent kingdom where clouds drift through submerged branches. Closer in, lily pads float in patient clusters, and a hidden frog sends ripples spreading like secrets. The only sound is the gentle lap of water against stone, and the occasional call of a loon, lonely and pure.