The ducks seem to be holding their evening meeting.

The ducks moved with a quiet confidence that seemed to mock my stillness. They glided across the surface like tiny ambassadors of purpose, their wakes dissolving into the larger rhythm of the lake. I found myself oddly captivated by their small world—each dive and flutter felt deliberate, as though they were rehearsing for an audience only they could see. Beyond them, the horizon burned softly, the sun retreating behind a curtain of trees. The colors on the water shifted again—deeper blues mingling with amber streaks. It was strange how something so fleeting could feel timeless. The air carried a faint chill now, nudging me to move on even as I lingered a moment longer by the edge.