Yao made his bed in the sandbanks of the Lake. In the morning he would venture out into the heart of the lake to pad around on the island, but until the sun rose again he rested. He found he couldn't sleep. The lake looked lovely in the light of the full moon. He smiled and looked up. Olapa, unaonekana mzuri jioni hii. he said to the lunar disc hanging in the sky. Her reflection on the lake rippled gently, never breaking entirely. He took in the view, knowing that he was not a good enough poet to truly describe this to his family, but absorbing it nonetheless.