The lake; Esme(e) did love the lake.
        I knew that of her, knew not how, and turned to see her face as we approached it wishing to thus bless myself with sight of her expressed tenderness rather than to reassure myself I had been correct.
        She did love it.
        She went to it, stood upon its moist dark verge, possessed it fist upon hip assessed it critically as lover to lover closing the gap of reluctant absence.
        The lake caressed her in response, its sifting breath lifting her dark hair from her brow. It must have spoken to her though we heard naught for she 1st glanced to us then girdled it with her boot prints and in that clear beam dwelt a world entire of memory, adventure and discovery, fond mutualities sufficient to bind a heart of feeling and perception. Such was Esme(e)'s heart.
        We heard its reeds clacking and whispering while we waited as she paced it not measuring time or quality but immersing, taking on its nature and its offerings as she took up her cape at other times.
        She had a way unique to her of setting it upon her shoulders and walking, then, as she walked at no other time.
        We saw an eye of minute ripples near the center where the depths made the waters bluer as the lake moved, discussing her, a smile, perhaps, for Esme(e)s return.
        She did demand of it.
        As she did of every encounter she did demand of it.
        I wondered what would next occur it being no mere mortal and so bound to fall before her wealth. But Esme(e) knew it, they were long companions in adventure and adversity indeed had fashioned and formed, at times composed, the very sequences which enlivened them.