On a pristine Northern Lake, the only sound acknowledged is of the paddles moving in between its latches & the displacing of the water. The water redresses himself after a temporary shift in his saggy leaves. They are a reminder that all beauty the eye claims to see falls off with time. The robust tree trunk holds firm on her stances, yet is flexible enough to show her good side to her son, to her mother, to her distant lover, the sun. A palm tree may have more twist but she makes up for it with her broad mid-size. She is a mommy kangaroo, whose pouches may hold a forest’s youth, those kindred finger and hand size renters that are always grateful for her open door. The weeping willow is a drama queen, this Northern girl wears thicker garments of moss instead of raising her voice about the cold temperature. when you are bound to a place forever you are likely to plan ahead. With the watershed in a vulnerable state, it would be wise to comfort her issues, bring tissues and leave the high oxidizing fudge at home. The last thing she needs is a bad digestion during this era of fast motion. When you say goodbye wish her another 100 years of listening to the sounds of life you happened to miss as you rowed and kissed the lakes far reaching sores.