At the edge of the lake I look over the reed beds. It’s a chill morning but a Spring chill not a Winter one; in the shadows it’s bitter cold; step out into the light, into the low light of this post dawn sun and it’s immediately warming. The reeds display the position of our orbit as well as anything, like back brushes sticking up, icy suds on one side, clean on the other. Funny how things come full circle. Man reclaimed land from the marsh, but today he digs out the gravel and re-floods the pits left. The reeds, in turn, object – pushing out again with slender roots; reclaiming the land from the water once more.