Invariably on the verge of impending doom.
No matter the peace and quiet,
the ruffle of maple leaves from the wind,
the wavelets blurring the perfect reflection of the cottages on the opposite bank,
the soft sun, the slight chill in the air,
the song from the birds chirping from boughs to boughs,
the lazy undulation of water lilies in the gentle current,
the ripples on the surface from a bold fish,
the parting wakes of ducklings,
the scratching downward course of squirrels on trunks,
the lake lapping the pontoon,
the clink of glasses for pre-dinner drinks,
the dragonflies whizzing by, skirting the surface.
No matter any ot that,
it is palpable and crippling,
only a phone call away.
Invariariably on the verge of impending doom.