The stillness of the lake has been interrupted and hundreds of animals steal away from its safety. He almost steps on a lizard as he hurriedly runs to the edge of the water. Looking out over the silver surface, he feels a moments peace and then accusing eyes peer at him from the waving cat tails and from the mud until he even believes the fish are looking at him with an unanswered question in their eyes. It’s very bleak, this Thursday evening in the middle of nowhere, and the inky color of the water that is slowly lapping at his shoes matches his mood at the second. He bends down, lets the water immerse his hands, and they disappear. He is surprised by this and pushes them down further until he feels the soft mud below. Both hands are nowhere to be seen. Now if he could only find a good anchoring rock and some rope. His wild mind grasps at this formulating idea.
—by Clara Masters
LANDLOCKED LYRES 