This lotus bloom is so flourescently bright that it appears to glow. It sits calmly on a still pond and opens it's pod as a beacon of light. It symbolizes awakening and pours forth beauty. Yet, even with all of it's brilliant honesty and soft petals, it pales in comparison to the silkyness of the water it rests upon. The water is like glass, a sight that would make any water-skiier drool. It sits quietly, patiently but not stagnantly. There are slight mentions of movement, but only around the edges of the plant life that call this pond home. They create small ripples, as if they are bobbing up and down every so slightly with the pulse of something below. The ripples never escape their edges, they never seek out new life in the center of the pond, they remain glued to their origins as if they aren't part of the water at all but instead some sort of tightly wrapped cellophane that bubbles ever so slightly around the edges of lily pads and lotus flowers.