This chilly, still, sunlit afternoon,
Onyx and I walked on the forest path
around Langton Lake.
The lake, our constant companion,
was twinkling, icy and white,
and puddled, from warmer days,

with unique shapes of sleek blue-gray,

vivid through vacant, graceful,
crisscrossed lines of gray barked trees.
As we rounded the corner,
where the granite bench sits,
the trees, the path, the sky, the lake,
Onyx, and I suddenly blended together.
It was as if we were all part of a painting,
glowing, detailed, multidimensional, one.
When I die, I bet I'll discover
the Creator is infinitely painting.
I'll be able to go
any time I want
to the gallery.
There will be paintings
of everything,
and of Langton Lake,
the forest path
and all the people and animals who walked there,
including Onyx and me.