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  • There is a lake on the border of California and Nevada that is an otherworldly place.

    Birds come to meander the surface like a countless number of bumper cars. They never seem to leave nor fly nor do much of anything except twiddle their little feet beneath the surface and even that I can’t guarantee.

    This is because the water itself descends into milky obscurity with eerie efficiency. The dull grayness hides any indication of the contours or depths of the lake. Those are left to your imagination.

    As there is no outlet, the water neither rises nor falls and simply stays, like the birds, to rest and do nothing.

    Uninviting rocks pierce the lake and then the sky. The sun rises and the sky becomes the lake and the lake the sky and the only thing to keep you from knowing which is which will be a bird and the reflection ripped apart by its wake.
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