- The voice
- Silent, with a small quiet smile
- Home
- The Sleepy LakeYou cannot see the other side
- Part of
- SleepThe ones whose whole job is getting you there.
- How home goes to sleep
- It goes to sleep when its reflection becomes a perfect mirror.
The story of The Lady of the Lake
She floats on her back just under the surface of the Sleepy Lake, face up, eyes closed, the whole of her there and visible: a long calm horizontal shape in a mirror. She is the only character in the world who lies down. She is not a person. She is made of the lake — pale blue-green clay like river-stone, hair a slow spread of soft waterweed, the family ring of eight pressed into her brow so nobody is in any doubt about which world she belongs to. Over her shoulders and body there is a long flowing clay cloak and shawl, heavy soft folds that spread out on the water around her like a lily pad, and at her throat one smooth pale river-stone on a simple cord. She is made of the lake, and so is what she wears. And then one arm rises, slowly, out of the still water. It is holding a pillow. Everybody old enough knows what is supposed to be in that hand, and that is the joke, and it lands in about half a second. Everybody too young for it just sees a lady in a lake handing up something soft. Both audiences are looked after by the same picture, which is the trick this whole world runs on. The arm rises, and holds, and sinks back. Once. Nothing else moves — not even the water, because the Hush along the bank has taken the wind away. And the pillow never leaves her hand. It is an offer, not a delivery, because a delivery would be an arrival and arrivals are events.
Friends
The Nodding SwanThey share the lake and never once acknowledge each other, which is how you know it is calm.