Flamingo.
The mist blows from across the lake. The sun's rays sparkling each particle as though the dust of diamonds has been scattered in the air, an abundance of shimmer. The ends of the lake wavering on the beach as though their defined line of wear is a clear boarder. The trees as a backdrop, numerous, a thick plethora of green and brown filling in their own gaps. The brush below is hard to determine where one ends and another begins, all to much to be significant, too picturesque to be identified. The mind makes sense of this nonsense. The mind takes in the scene, it's beauty, and without effort interprets into a feeling. The mind is capable of so much more, so much in fact, that the scene, her landscape, and what she presents through her natural beauty, the accumulation of organisms of all sorts, is mostly a blur, for you might not have noticed the detail if I hadn't brought it into your mind. Instead you might be consumed with a problem at work, or pain in your gut, for th...