Lake Silver Fish

That day I saw a fish with silver scales. It was when I took a walk through a forest, to a lake. There, what leaned over the water, was a tree, a birch that bent down like falling. It hung over the water like reaching out for a drink. The sight enticed me, and my feet took me. So I climbed out onto the leaning tree, stretched out onto the trunk, let fall my arms down toward the water. If my finger had touched the lake, tiny ripples would have parted in circles, from the touch on, to spread onward. But no ripples would start, and the stillness would hold. Because there it was, the fish with silver scales. Under the surface of the lake, it shone with the light of the day, it moved within the calmness of the water. And at that moment, when the fish swam in the lake, when I lay on the tree, I held my breath, and watched.