Lake Placid

I was looking at the far end of the lake. It seemed similar to the end on which I was sitting. In fact it was funny in a way because the whole lake looked same, unperturbed and unfazed by its surrounding. It had a strained calmness associated with it, a tension which was palpable and paradoxically peaceful. I decided to take a dip, to fathom the reason for the calmness, which I had been seeking for so long. I plunged into the water and was for an instant was bewildered by the contrast. The inside seemed to be a totally different world, vibrant, flamboyant, lively, and separated from the outside by a thin membrane. There seemed to be a passion flowing through inside, of type I never came across before. There was serenity about it. What intrigued me were the deep valleys and the small hills which existed like agony and ecstasy and both of which bore the similar attractive fleece over them, the fabric of which had passion and reason in it. The tandem of zeal and serenity was the reason for the calm strain with which the surface of the lake rippled. It just said a lot about the depth of the lake. There seemed to be an acceptance for anyone who took a plunge but there seemed no resistance either for those who chose to go out. The stasis, devoid of forces, seemed to be a religion. I fell in love with the lake. I fell in love with its placidity.