Up here, you hear Nothing. Or maybe The gentle lapping of waves like a lullaby. Fog breezes in, spreading across the lake Like whipped frosting. The water, so pure. You can drink it. People are scarce. And fierce. About their land, their water. This is their legacy. Because here, you can dream forever. Forests fringe these lakes like eyelashes, While water, Holds its breath. Never moving a muscle.