The lake is nearly still, and standing
on its bank, I am captivated by its colors.
Mostly it’s deep green, but the low sun
sends dazzling gold through the pines
that streaks the lake’s surface between
ribbons of russet and brown where the trunks
of the trees are reflected. I gaze
at it for a long while before I notice
the chunks of white that line the shore
across from where I’m standing. Ice,
my mind says. The last of it. But then,
all at once, a loud honking rips
through the air and the ice
transforms into fat ducks that push off
from the shore and paddle in graceful rows
into the lake’s smooth green, stirring its colors
as if they were artists and the water
their paint.