.^«*=%##@#                                          #@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%%###                                          ###%%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@#                                          #@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@#                                          #@##%=*«^.
.^««*==%#@                                          @#%==*««^.
.^«*==%%##               winds esker                ##%%==*«^.
....^*%%#@ «««««««««««««««««««««««««««««««««««««««« @#%%*^....
.^«*=%###@                                          @###%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@# there  was this place that for two years #@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%#### i  couldn't go to. regardless  how  much ####%=*«^.
...^^«*%## discussed  with others,  or  pointed out ##%*«^^...
...^««=##@ on maps, i  could not think of  it  when @##=««^...
.^«*=%##@# alone.  i  would  often  travel past the #@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%%%%# fork, where  a right turn  would  surely #%%%%=*«^.
...«*=%##@ take me there, but even then,  something @##%=*«...
.....«=%#@               kept me away.              @#%=«.....
.^«*=%#@##                                          ##@#%=*«^.
.^«*=%#### when i  finally  got  there,  after some ####%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@#     heavy subconscious battle i must     #@##%=*«^.
....^*%### assume,  the   place  was  surreal.   an ###%*^....
.^«*=%##@# esker,  like  a  needle-thin rift out in #@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@# the  lake,  but   ten  meters  high  and #@##%=*«^.
...«*=%### adorned in  birch, willow, bracken,  and ###%=*«...
.^«*=%##@#               blueberries.               #@##%=*«^.
.^«*====%#                                          #%====*«^.
.^«*=%##@# walking  atop  that  spine,  i  came  to #@##%=*«^.
....««=%%# notice the view  to either  side.  there #%%=««....
.^«*=%##@@ should  be  shores,  of  course,  but  i @@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@# didn't  recognize them. first  off, they #@##%=*«^.
....^^*==# were much too close, as the lake  should #==*^^....
.^««**%### stretch  for  a hundred meters  more  on ###%**««^.
.^«*=%##@# both  sides.  but  now  i felt  i  could #@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%#### almost  reach out and  touch  them.  and ####%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@# then, when i realized which  shores they #@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@#           were, i had to stop.           #@##%=*«^.
......^*=#                                          #=*^......
.^«*=%%%%# they  were of the  right lake.  but this #%%%%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@#       lake is large, fractured, and      #@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@# bipartite.  like a pair  of lungs carved #@##%=*«^.
......^*%# into the granite, and with no  less than #%*^......
.^«*=%##@#   five communities anchored at various   #@##%=*«^.
...«««==##      points. and so, studying these      ##==«««...
.^«*=%##@@    impossibly close shores, i slowly     @@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@# understood  them as belonging many miles #@##%=*«^.
....^*=%##                  away.                   ##%=*^....
.....^«=#@                                          @#=«^.....
.....«==#@ i  examined  the  ridge,   the  treeline @#==«.....
.^«*=%#### above. was this  what  you saw opposite, ####%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@# from  those  other  shores?  i  couldn't #@##%=*«^.
...^«===##                 remember.                ##===«^...
..^«**=%#@                                          @#%=**«^..
.....^«=## carrying  forward, on  the  very  tip of ##=«^.....
.^«*=%#### the  esker, i found  the ruins  of  some ####%=*«^.
....^««=##    old building. there were overgrown    ##=««^....
....«*=%##  marble staircases, stone floors beneath ##%=*«....
.^«*=%##@# the  moss, and  strange  slabs  inserted #@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@# into  the slope like  dams  against  the #@##%=*«^.
.....«**%#              ground itself.              #%**«.....
......^*%#                                          #%*^......
.^«*=%##@# sitting  there, i  could  see across the #@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@# narrowed lake my entire path  to where i #@##%=*«^.
....«**%## sat:  from the stairwell  of  my  house, ##%**«....
.^««**==%# through the  old woods  behind the  tile #%==**««^.
.^«*=%##@#      factory, the bridge over route      #@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@# twenty three  and then  back  under  it, #@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%#### through  the  fancy  villas,  over   the ####%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@@ fields, and then that right  turn at the @@##%=*«^.
....«==###                  fork.                   ###==«....
...^**=%%#                                          #%%=**^...
...^***=## and  then  the stairs  up on the  ridge. ##=***^...
.^*=%##@## thinking  back, this  was  probably  it. ##@##%=*^.
.^«*=%##@# hidden  in a grove,  there  were  stairs #@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%#@## much like  the ones  i currently sat on, ##@#%=*«^.
..^«««=%## old  and  worn down,  that  lead  you up ##%=«««^..
...^^*%### onto the esker.  the point of entry. had ###%*^^...
.^«*=%##@# i insted opted to walk  the path at  its #@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@# foot,  i'm sure  my  experience would've #@##%=*«^.
.^«*=%#@##          been different indeed.          ##@#%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@#                                          #@##%=*«^.
.^«**=%### «««««««««««««««««««««««««««««««««««««««« ###%=**«^.
.^««***=%#                                          #%=***««^.
.^«*=%##@# on  the  lake,   there  were  people  in #@##%=*«^.
.....^«*%# boats. i wondered, could  they  even see #%*«^.....
.^«*=%#@## me?  if i  shouted,  would they  turn to ##@#%=*«^.
.^«*=%####          stare right through me?         ####%=*«^.
.^«*=%####                                          ####%=*«^.
......^*%#                                          #%*^......
.^«*=%####                                          ####%=*«^.
.^«*=%##@#                                          #@##%=*«^.
....^«**%#                                          #%**«^....