Lake Joondalup.
When I first met you, you were dry as a writer's brain the morning after deadline. Nothing but pale grey sand, with the occasional few inches of water where a few ducks were illustrating the concept of either denial or faith.
It was nice to see you again, after the unexpectedly wet winter had made its debut.
If I could only speak Duck, I think I would have been hearing them say, "Told you so."
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