The Crocodile

The crock The small lake in the vale is muddy brown and I see what looks like an uprooted tree floating in the middle, the tree disappears and the water ripples like it suddenly feels cold. There has been rumours about sheep disappearing when grazing near the lake but since there is a good road nearby, rustlers have been blamed; mind, dogs too have vanished and no self-respecting thieve can possible be interested in our motley canines. The breeze that made the water ripple has died out and in sharp spring sunlight I can see the tree again, but it seems to be lower in the water. The lake gets smaller and browner every year less rain falls now then in the past, a few years hence it will be a piece of dry land and a dusty crocodile.