In the shimmering depths of calmness, where the sky flirts with the horizon, the reflections linger on. Not unlike the boardroom strategies of a corporate titan, they hover, ever so important, yet wholly ineffectual.
The lake, ever-so-quiet, mirrors the toil of those unseen hands, the ones that shuffle papers at a pace only understood by connoisseurs of procrastination. Here, in the reflective sanctum, we find multiple versions of ourselves — all of them eerily smiling, all of them endlessly still.
Does the reflection mock? Or does it simply understand the stillness the way a seasoned bureaucrat comprehends the art of the endless meeting? As the ripples of bureaucracy wash away, the stillness remains — unchanged, unimpressed, and utterly indifferent.