The Lake

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I was inspired to write this poem after visiting an unusual lake in Tasmania.

It was late afternoon when we visited The Lake.
With a bright blue expanse over our heads, there was not a cloud in the sky.
A far cry from the choking smog-filled city, the air was warm, pure and exhilarating.
Sunlight filled our skin.
In the distance, the water was just a winking gleam of silver.
We walked along the solid and rippling anemic sand.
Occasionally, there were lacy filigree streams of gathering water –
a hint of the impending tide – somewhere out there in the distance.
“Never turn your back on the sea!” My father used to tell me –
a dim voice hovering in the back of my mind.
Slowly, but surely, the gurgling rivulets continued to grow.
The firm sand under our feet made
sucking noises, like a child noisily sucking a milkshake through a straw.
Lost in the wild abandonment of being able to swim in the middle of a lake
that is usually over our heads, we frolicked fancy free in the shallow depths.
Soon our feet found it hard to stand on secure ground, and a nervous tickle
twitched in my heart.
The sand seemed to reach up like cold slimy fingers and grasp at our ankles
seeking to suck us down

into the netherworld

beneath.

As we reluctantly retreated to higher ground,
behind us, a magical metamorphosis had taken place.

The desiccated lake
was now a shimmering and pulsating colossus of water.

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