A certain hush had draped the night. The tree admired its own form on the eyes of the lake. The silence of the moon played the only witness to the warmth of the brewing intimacy.
The affair was cut short.
The lake looked up to the sky worriedly. The clouds were already gathering. The moon could not be seen anymore.
And then came the drops.
The lake shivered with the ripples of the drizzles hitting its face. New dimensions superimposed on each other. As if crying in dismay, the lake tried to gather the portrait of the tree. Unfortunately, the PERFECT reflection was already gone.
Or was it?
The lake suddenly felt the distorted echo of the tree playing on his surface, as if beaming with affection and waving at him. The new dimensions were somehow breaking down the image and then recreating it afresh. The lake couldn’t take his eyes off. The romance was being weaved anew.
Maybe the water from the sky didn’t mess up his own. Maybe it added something to his own. Or maybe it just made him a NOT SO PERFECT veneer, which in some way mirrored an even more beautiful impression of his lover.
All this while, the moon kept smiling behind the clouds.