Still Lake, Colorado

When I go on a photographic jaunt by myself,
      I usually plan the night before where my camera
            and I will greet the next sunrise.
This particular day, however, I was without plans.
No place I had visited the previous day or two had issued
      what felt like a special invitation to return.
So I left my room in Breckenridge, Colorado
      and drove through the morning darkness, choosing smaller roads,
            keeping my eye on the eastern sky.
Left, right, right again.
The sky was brightening; I needed to find a place soon.
A wooden sign gave the name of a lake, so with no better prospects,
      I parked my car and started walking.
Weeds obstructed any view.
Suddenly, it was right in front of me:
      water so still it was truly mirror;
            light so diaphanous it was truly window.
We moved slowly this way and that along the shore, my camera and I.
We stopped here because that stone wanted to be in the picture.
Who were we to argue?