The lake at sunset (words and pictures)

I stood on the shore of the lake at sunset.

And beheld its beauty.

The sun set and the moon rose.

A cycle that the lake has known from the very beginning.

It was cold while the wind swept over me.

I had come to find solace; a reprieve from my daily life.

And I did.

I was on the farthest end of the lake in Buffalo.

Was this the same wind that also blew through Toledo, Cleveland, and Erie?

Seagulls seemingly hung in the air as they glided into it.

I tried to imagine this place before the European explorers.

Proud Iroquoians plying the water in canoes.

Living near the lake’s shore.

And what must the first Europeans have thought?

Surely they were in awe.

Just as I am still.

As the original natives were.

Reverence.

But did they feel this wind.

This same wind.

As it washed over me like a baptism.

Washing away my worries.

They must have; how could they not?

It is said that God whispers in the wind.

And tonight She was.

Urban Simplicity.

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