Shhhhh. Just listen. Hear it? No. Me, neither. And isn’t that why it’s so perfectly beautiful? No honks, no hunks, nor horns, nor funks of the mind wondering what it all means. Not here. Not. Shhhhh. Not anything. Nothing. But this time it leaves a different impression. Transgression, not oppression. Clarity, not disparity. The lake and the loon and the crisp and the moon. And the dance of the leaves ‘midst the wind and the trees and The Pure. The inexplicable comfort. Let us lie on the dock on the lake somewhere north of the place where we normally despair.