In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Places.”
There’s something about lakes that just does it for me. The stillness of the water, the calming breeze hidden between the trees.
I’m not the biggest fan of beaches. Sure, it’s a pretty view and the lapping of the waves is something to listen to forever. Even the salty air is incredible. But it doesn’t compare to sitting on the ground in front of a wide and full lake.
Plus, I hate sea gulls.
I don’t know why I am so enthralled with lakes, though. My parents used to take me and my sister to a lake or river when we were kids. My love for it might have started there since I remember always wanting to go there instead of the pier.
I have two paintings in my home; one of a lake and a log cabin, and one of a house and a beach, and I can’t help but think that the ocean painting looks dooming. Like there is nothing good to come out of it.
But with the lake, I see hope and light. I see an endless wonder and an unlimited beauty. I see joy and sorrow. But when I’m around a lake, it’s peaceful and calming.
It is infinity. It is something in which I cannot explain.
Inspiration seeps through the water ripples and cool breaths radiate off of the reflected sunlight.
There are no lakes close enough to me to sit by and watch and write and breathe.
So I sit under the painting by the window and pretend that I can hear the life of every tree and the sighs of every ripple.
Hoping that I get to visit a beautiful lake soon.