The lake creates the perfect mirror; reflecting the moonlight and the stars so high above.
Silently, I graze it's cool surface; my movements causing the only disruption to the reflections. My movements, so graceful, so elegant. It's no wonder there's a ballet characterizing my movements.
Oh, please don't think me vain. I am not. But when you are constantly met with your own image, you either see the good, or the bad.
Reflections become tiresom if you've seen all there is to be seen.
With a sudden urge of strength, my wings -- white as snow -- shoot out beside me and I take to the sky. As I peer down, I see the lake has stilled once more, creating that perfect mirage of the night sky.