In the middle of a tangled forest lies the deep, dark pond. Its waters are cold, and very still. They are so clear that the pond appears black, so deep are its depths. On this pond's surface the sky is pristinely reflected, and sometimes through this obverse sky float clouds, which one might call thoughts were one so inclined. Each cloud has a unique shape, and the origin of each diversity is as foreign to the pond as its destination. Many days pass before a storm appears. The sky darkens; the clouds are many. Thunder peals. When the rain begins, the surface of the pond is disturbed, and the reflection disappears.