They painted the pool a patriotic blue,
because apparently the sky wasn't doing its job.
For centuries, water had reflected America without a permit, without a consultant, without a branding strategy.
But that was the old way.
Now every puddle must declare its loyalty.
The ducks were confused.
One asked, "Are we still swimming, or have we become part of the logo?"
A tourist stared into the water and whispered, "I can no longer tell where the reflection ends and the advertisement begins."
Meanwhile, the fish filed a formal complaint.
"We were promised freedom," they said, "not a corporate colour palette."
But nobody listened.
The painters marched on, armed with buckets and slogans, determined to improve reality one coat at a time.
Soon the grass looked suspiciously unbranded.
The clouds lacked consistency.
The moon failed to meet visual identity guidelines.
Committees were formed.
Reports were written.
Budgets multiplied.
And somewhere, an old man sat quietly beside the pool, remembering when water was trusted to be water.
The politicians called it progress.
The contractors called it a variation order.
The media called it history.
The taxpayers called it expensive.
And the pool?
The pool said nothing.
It simply reflected the absurdity above it, as it always had,
blue or otherwise.