Story of the Lake

Getting closer to the lake I noticed a trail in the grass and I could tell it had been taken a great many times. As cautious as ever, I moved forward towards the lake observing the remains of wild boars’ nightly mud bath and a king fisher, prey in beak, bolted off a branch close to me and down to the lake. There were traces of all kind around any point of access to the lake, yet the lake lay in peace as if absence had cast its spell and either the mallard ducks or the Egyptian geese were the only ones to crack the silence. Pondering this bitter fate of the journey, a beaver, carrying a branch in the mouth, passed before me smoothly. This is not something you would look away from on an ordinary occasion: a beaver making its home. Nonetheless, I resisted the temptation to devote my time to this sweet chance, promising myself to capture it later or on my way back, I regained focus on finding mallard duck nests.

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