“From the outer edge the dry lake was a flat meadow, a series of shapes. I made my way to the bottom – in my approach its image disappeared, and in every step its flatness unravelled into dimension forward and backward, and there was an infinity of smallness. A series of secret streams moved in layers beneath the rocks and grass. The lake was still alive beyond that shape we saw as its final end. Here and there I pieced a footing together from one far end to the other: a shard of rock, a rusted metal scrap, a semi-solid patch of earth that held for a moment, and I climbed back up and the image of the lake was returned.” - Meris Drew