A little fog on the lake, and the light glints yellow off the water, creating a halo over the green algae beneath the surface. Pine trees of a deep green line the edges, and a heron glides overhead, off in the distance.

I sit in my little rowboat, oars drawn in, cupping my mug of coffee to my lips, feeling the cool morning air on my shoulders. I cast my line into the water, expecting nothing to bite but mosquitoes. A little wisp of wind blows across the air, and half a tendril of hair escapes to tickle my nose and eyelashes. I don’t brush it away and instead it frames the view of my surroundings. The boat rocks ever so gently, and I drift my way through the morning, at rest.

The sun rises.


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