about the surface of a lake colored with fragile shadows of sky, trees in wind, an empty canoe knotted to a dock, long-necked geese, how happiness rises when I follow replicas bleach & bloom as sun sails in & out of clouds? And even better if the tree is a weeping willow with arching, drooping branches that sway narrow pale green leaves with dreamy silver undersides. Dreamy as fog on a lake in early morning—the soft fuzz, screen of dampness, veil of mystery.