What causes the lake to stir
is of little consequence –

what matters is the pattern
of disturbance that snares the eye.

Perhaps a presumptuous frog,
an errant acorn, a catapulted stone –

the result is the same:
ripples, rings expanding
from the point of entry,

scattering reflected afternoon sun
like an unstrung necklace.

They glitter out,
all the way to muddy banks,
then ricochet back,

crazy quilt of sinus waves,
crisscrossing arcs toward the center,

repeating and fading
until they smooth and flatten,

reconfiguring the mirror,
placid face that belies nothing,

not even the who or what
that broke the surface
and started this chaos in motion.

01/01/2003

Posted on 01/01/2003
Copyright © 2026 Bruce W Niedt