Hidden visions take form on the surface of milky water. Opaque images on a gloomy day. The tiny stream of water slowly dribbled down from the hills, over the rocks, and then away from me. It came from I know not where, yet on this dreary grey of a day, it had somewhere to be. I perched above the trickle and crouched to get as close I could. The water was stuck or stalled or still at least. I saw the expanse of sky reflected on its surface. The bleak black shadows of barren tree branches stretched their fingers out across the milky canvas. They appeared to me as a tangled mass of roots that were visible somewhere below in the bed of translucent soil. Like an opaque mirror the water’s taut surface revealed these shapes of an old and dying wood in an unstable and mysterious fashion, much like a witch’s cauldron or a gypsy’s crystal ball. Cloudy but clear all the same. The drip drip drip upstream continued and eventually the water I was staring at would carry on, and although the river had somewhere to be, the images did not. They maintained their presence in that small ditch alongside the path, waiting or looking for what, I dare not guess.