A single tree drifts in the breeze
and a marshy stream curves
gently round into the spread of endless fields.
People, in the distance.
A fog blinded lake rises up,
to shape a hill on the horizon.
The foregrounds draws in upon
an ancient arch of stone,
it's pillared sides gnawed away by time.
But look closer, see here,
that the arch is not stone, but formed
from a notepad, two pens,
and a stack of old CDs.