It’s as unobtrusive as a rare flower hidden in the crevice of a fallen tree, underrated as a thistle growing on the side of a canyon, permanent as a lichen covered rock gripping the river soil.

Some people roar in giddy circles around the lake, voices untamed, hands clinking bottles and sloshing liquid in amber droplets. The beer is a toy, the lake a playground. Life is an earth-sized board game where your only goal is to keep the wild beast inside sated. Life is pulling drunk donuts on a lake, high with excitement and marijuana.

To others, the lake is an idol to be worshipped from a distance. The water is awesome when it reflects the sunset’s molten sheen, but terrifying when the waves crest white and scud across the lake under a sullen sky. It’s safer to keep a low profile, to hunker in the glow of the flat screen rather than brave the wind and spray. Life is a dangerous roller coaster, but while other people are whooping and vomiting, stay in the shadows and keep your head down. Because really, the only person you can protect is yourself.

To other stifled, logical souls, the lake is a large body of water, made up of many molecules linking with other molecules, hydrogen and oxygen bumping and blending and creating a transparent liquid called water. Life is a series of events. You’re born, you flourish, you peak, you decline, you die. It’s one all encompassing math formula—a+b+c=life. Your only goal is survival, and eventually a medically supervised death.

To some, the lake is just there, always in the peripheral vision, a thing to be taken for granted. Because of the contours of the land, the lake was formed, and nothing can be done about it. You are careful not to get wet, but otherwise, you could care less about the sequence of events that created this vast expanse of H2O. Life is a chance card—good luck, bad luck, who knows? You do the responsible things, the adult things. You’re respected in society but not popular, tolerated but not admired.

To others, the lake is a thing of beauty and wonder, a silver disc glinting in the sunlight, a haven for fish, a wild wave fest with an underlying, throbbing rhythm. You take a canoe out on its smooth surface and watch the ripples your paddles leave in the water. Each ring spreads out from the other, a design stretching ad infinitum. You pull fish out of the lake and watch their rainbow colored bellies squirm and flash out of sight when you release them. You capture the shimmery reflections of the trees on film. Life is a marvel, miracle following miracle, all nature a symphony to its Creator.

No matter what these paltry humans think, the lake stays unchanged. It reflects the vulnerable light green of spring, the heady colors and flames of summer, the lingering autumn glories, and the long, icy winter sleep. Year after year, thousands of little dramas play out on its surface and thousands of untold stories mingle with the waves waiting for someone to slow down and discover them.