It is farther out than I remember, this reflection swimming upwards against the stream, embracing splash and fall, freedom of lake and river. A sunset in the distance, ripples revealing rainbow coloured wimples. Onward I go, lips pursed, my blood red scars surrounding water. If only the child was mine. I would like them to be unlike me, seamed fishnets, a pin to shock, an outcast to a family who could never grasp the beauty of green ribbon thrown in a September wind, or the onset of Winter, sliding across freshly formed ice.