Gazing Across The Lake, I Saw The Ice Floes. Like Giant Lily Pads, They Drifted In The Hundreds, Gently, Together, Atop The Emerald-Blue Waters. As They Merged With The Shallows, The Colours Of The Underwater Rock Garden Speckled The Watery Canvas.
The ice which had been our home and only hope for survival for months is starting to crack. Patience Camp is no longer safe to live on, and I fear we must set out on the dingy boats if we are to ever find land. 176 more words