A marble: melted and pressed and levelled
the lake that rests in the valley of mountains.
We rent a canoe and when we step into it
it sways on the seamless water, sending ripples.
The glassy lake shatters when we paddle.
The oar enters in the water with a moment of resistance
but we look behind us and the lake has healed over
stitched itself back together, unbroken
no trace of us.
In the water is a reflection of the mountains
blurry and faded, abundant and tempting
I can touch the mountains below me with my fingertips
Atlantic cold and numbing, holding crystals in my palm
emerald green and sapphire skies and lemon drop sun
vivid colours which eloquence cannot capture.
Our laughter is an electric insult to the placidity
It echoes, bouncing off the peaks,
reflecting off the trees and mocking in return.
“Shhhh,” the mountains whisper. “Shhhh.”
We become still, speaking with our eyes,
translating with our smiles, giggling under our breath.
Our canoe glides through the lake, our shoulders hunched.
This place speaks in tongue clickings and
bird peckings and tree brushings and duck landings
and water tricklings and glacier meltings and
insulted echoes, giving our voices back to us.
Beth Robertson is a 3rd year undergraduate student at Strathclyde University in Glasgow, studying Creative Writing, Journalism & English. She's an aspiring novelist but currently a blogger, a journal keeper, a reader and a friend. She desribes herself as 'creatively frustrated: I’ve got too many thoughts in my head, too many words on my mind, too many books on my shelf.' To read more of her writing, check out her blog: Daisy Chains and Headspace.