Enchanted lake of quiet delight
Water still as glass the soft secretive
Sound of the paddle-boats dulled
In the blue-clad mists of winter’s approach.
With the faintest whisper Summer
Departs leaving Autumn as her surrogate
And the cool mists creep up the foothills
Making their slow way to the
Wrapped in shawls the rich brown women
Laugh, the sound falling like leaves,
Swallowed by the waters of the lake
Reflections like shattered glass
Horses mill and turn, led to the gallop
By the Nepali Indian boys bravado
The drumming hooves echoing over water
Racing the lake to reach her head
Silently the majestic conifers tower
Into the sky and lie across the water
Mirrored green and dreaming boughs
Cry into the still waters
A swirl of activity, a sudden swish,
The glassy surface broken by a myriad fish
Fed for luck and good fortune by those
Hurrying to market
On a tree-decked island sacred red
Glimpsed through the veil of trees
A woman in a bright bird-like sari
Guards the Deity enshrined
Girls call and giggle, laughing
As the horses and the boys ride
Ever faster around the sacred lake
Flirting in the face of custom
Peace and harmony precede winter
Mirik in all her many moods
Mist lying thick, caressing the water
In my dreams I see her still.
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