Shoal of Storms.

What do I see?

A lake whose end is distant; so distant that the pearl-shadowed water melts into the forest of mournful emeralds that there is beneath the mist.

My breath melts equally into the air and disappears from existence, where does it go? I don't really know.

Fishes splash loudly in the middle of the lake, tempting me to join them, to abandon earth and all on it and go on a journey, for us impossible; moving through the waters, riding the tallest of waterfalls, and some day, if we are ready, meeting the spirits of seas and dead mountains in the deep oceans.

They come towards me. It is their last offer. They jump and bite my shoes. My breath vanishes again in the air, and as if it had always been a dream, the shoal disappears.

The ghost-like silence left by is a severe punishment, yet its resounding bustle is not enough to drown the storm around my head out.

The mist is up. What a pity, I thought I could put them there; they would have been happy.