The dream is only a winding path through truth. Along this path there is a mountain lake. There is a tree leaning near the water showing it’s old age. The broken limbs hang inches from the water surface. As the wind blows with the seasons, the tips of the weather worn branches dip into the water and out again. Little ripples of history playing songs in the water. Butterfly effects mixing nature and beauty. The song plays on, beckoning to the lady of the lake. She dances shore to shore painting miracles with her brush. Her Purple dress mixing perfectly with the Winter snow and ice, the thousand shades of green in the early spring, the fish breaking the water surface on cool Summer mornings, and the orange, red, and passion of Fall. She a Rainbow on the horizon that the most powerful motorboat of mankind cannot reach. Pure, angry, passionate, heartbroken, loving, embracing, and even forgiving, the Lady of the Lake starts and finishes life as one swoop of her wand. The wind dies and the ripples of song subside as a sunset crests across the mountain side. The path continues on. Along this path the muse may change, but nature and beauty they are always as one. The path never starts or ends. The view always changing on this life loop as old as time.