Hidden Depths

I've got out of the habit of taking the longer walk to work via the canal. I'd gone by the road and was about to head into the office when I realised just how utterly still it was. There wasn't the slightest breath of wind. Something clicked in my head. I backtracked to a favourite spot just a hundred yards away.

The surface of the canal presented a mirror, bottomless in its perfection. The only interruption to infinity was the barely discernible movement of a cortege of autumn leaves, floating past with funereal solemnity, as if paying respects to the summer just gone. The canal looked impossibly deep, as if it were filled with the entire world above. Those depths were hidden from sight to everyone else passing by. Their eyes weren't registering what I was seeing. All they could see was some fool who appeared to be looking for something dropped in the water!

Actually, I rather lost myself. I spent so long gazing into these hidden depths that I was a little late for a teleconference. It didn't feel that important.