I love these morning walks around the lake, with no direct route and no distinguished time of return. Only following a rugged dirt path, hoping that it will bring you back to the same place it always has. Home. The lilacs as they glisten in the dawn, throw of the scent of some luxurious perfume that only the richest have money to purchase, and only the humble have a chance to experience naturally. Straying not from the path but to redirect thine journey away from the freshly sprouted towers, as the ants go about their daily routine of building a home for their queen; and misguided sprinklers throwing frigged water unto all it can reach. The lake more still than cooled glass, tainted with the elements of a students' most recent attempt to be rid him self of all things educational. The pigment still fresh and hardly bleed. Bubbles of oxygen rescue pieces of the document, as though the liquid has destined specific items to preserve. The branches entangled within one another, high above the ground making a wet canopy, luring in morning travelers with its eerie mist over the now dimly lit path. Two lone tire swings blow in the wind as if the children of the night have yet to finish playing on them. As their giggles and playful screams are dulled by that of the morning winds from the west. The red embers and smoldering glow casting the essence of a still burning flame of the fire that was extinguished not long ago. The white smoke still billowing lightly from its bay. The sticky grass applies its self as a motif to the travelers shoes as the blue jays come out to greet her good morning and adieu. Their chirps filling the air with an intoxicating tranquility begging her not to leave their secret place, that which they all have held so dear. And there, she has arrived at her secret corner, her unabashed seat under the oaks, as the morning quietly sneaks up on her, transforming the darkened sky into a light hew of gray. The sun hiding behind the gloomy sky as though it already knows the deeds of the day and refuses to shine. For today is the day that the land must bid its traveler adieu. That she must continue her journey, onward.