You've been walking in circles, your foot soaked with pothole water, sock gritty with asphalt. It only becomes a labyrinth when you become mindful. Then it's time to find your way out. By the lake, in autumn. It takes longer than you'd think. The blossoms have fallen from the stems of the hydrangeas. The wind picks up. Sand compresses beneath your sneakers, then rises behind you. The water is beautiful. The mergansers seek food inside the water; their diving is beautiful. The mountains containing the water: dappled gold, and beautiful. The trees, so many of them, drink the water. They are beautiful. At each dead end you turn into a new beginning.