What little we see

The day was a bit drizzly but it was cool and comfortable.
 
A gathering by the lake side and nature’s face was grand and beautiful.
 
People herded into the new-looking building and sat around quietly as if waiting for permission to speak.
 
I, myself, maintained the view of the more scenic approach.
 
While the others chattered among themselves adorning their words with matters of current relevance, I looked upon the waterside in the attempt to impress my mind’s eye with as much of the fabric, texture and color that my limited vision could intake.
 
Maybe for some, it would be seen as a dark green lake living within the countryside. "I’ve seen this place many times," you might say and so have I.
 
But still I am helpless to notice how the water ripples at the wind’s call; little waves roar across the surface.
 
The formations of flat rock along the bank; they have settled into mountains with enormous caves.
 
A fine line of trees close to the water for drink; a forest in size of such proportions, one could be lost for an eternity among the greens.
 
The mist of the drizzle resting gently about the horizon; One may think he embarked the lands of heaven.
 
In the back of me were those who did not or could not see beyond what was seen.
 
Rather they felt comfortable with casual conversation and obedience to the idea that this was a company picnic and their obligation was to be present and in plain sight.
 
In the front of me was a whole world in the matter of a small residence.
 
One of which is reborn anew at every beginning, at every crossing and at each moment time moves forward.
 
Those should consider themselves lucky to see it.
 
 
Kactus Berry