E.H. Lupton Let us imagine ourselves underwater. The water is in motion about us, but we lie still. Not borne about by the current, by choice. Let us imagine we have a duty. We wait. Let us imagine. The sword is almost beside the point. The waiting continues. For how long do we wait? We haven’t been told. I hate having cold feet. Imagine that above the lake, fog hangs over a bare wood, filigreed cobwebs, silvered crabapples, a few dead leaves. The finger bones of the trees are clacking against each other. Let’s pretend the future will someday lie