Day 29: Fishing season has closed at Mineral Lake, leaving the fog to wander freely, the reflections to lie undisturbed. Voices no longer echo across the water, loud enough to wrinkle the surface. Here, clouds can posture before the mirror; the hills can pose, prideful of their evergreen garments. A solitary and impoverished stump shares a moment of pleasure in the companionship of a cold blue sky.
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