Along the Water's Edge

The pond is the finest of mirrors, never showing exactly what is above, but converting it to a image so beautifully smudged and broken. The weeping willow, the soft clouds above, all become a Monet painting – all free for the looking. I can walk here every day and it will always be both the same but different. This transience, the changing by the hour, by the day, by the season, makes it precious. I walk along the pond’s edges under the puffs of my own breath, taking in the denuded trees and the stark freshness that only the coldest season can bring. A small bird in a bold cap of golden feathers disturbs the silence. It alights upon a nearby twig, fluttering its wings, each beat forming a sonnet to the air. The water is a clear, movie-star blue, the kind of blue their eyes are. crystal clear water reflecting a world beyond pond holds earth's secrets bright blue sky above cotton clouds float by in peace see nature’s canvas trees in winter’s hold nature’s beauty unadorned aesthetic stillness