Mornings and evenings at Hermit’s Lake are natural wonders. The lake, this evening, is without ripples. Fish rise with a splash to the water’s surface, for flies, an eagle lazily circles above us, watching the lake’s surface for the same fish we are trying to catch. Richard and Maria share a bench, all of us fishing hard as the sun drops and you hunker in your jacket to keep warm. It will be dark soon.  Ninety nine out of a hundred people would say ” this is a good definition of paradise” , and they wouldn’t be wrong. Whether all this natural wonder is by design or the result of chaotic chance is a question I ponder with the same intensity of a kid playing with a rubric cube. None of us three say anything to upset the balance, this evening, our planet a colorful top spinning on a sidewalk, a perpetual motion machine set in motion with one flip of God’s wrist. The fish this evening must be enjoying the sunset as much as we are. We haven’t even had a bite yet.