I didn’t know what to do with my free afternoon, so I went for a walk hoping that the walk will end with a glass of iced latte . Now I am sitting at the edge of the Watermill Lake, staring at the shimmering brown water. At the things beneath the water: the stones covered with soft algae or moss and the fallen branches. I am thinking how these branches used to be creatures of air, used to be addicted to light, homes for the birds, highways for squirrels. Now, after their first death, the live underwater, surrounded by algae, small fish and tadpoles. Some trees reincarnate as soil. Some become water creatures. None disappear. When I started writing this, I had no idea it was about afterlife.