A breeze across the surface water smells of
harmonious wet forest and eternal pond water.
A reflection off the surface reveals the wisdom of elder trees teaching the young
The calling of the feather kin draws pictures
uon the water.
The pitcures show of a time gone by long ago.
I look out to see the golden rod lilies that breath their essence for the forest to take in.
A turtle ever so stealthily sneeks his head above the surface water to catch a breath.
The insects of the lonely waters glide lazily in sync to the music of the wood around.
Each ripple through the surface sings a story of years gone by,
But i do not understand the words.
One day this pond shall be drained and the calling of the birds shall die away.
The insects too shall all die away or leave this place of beauty.
The trees will be cut and turned to mulch, and later that mall man dreamed of will be put upon the dead pond.
Looking back to the mystifying waters of sheepish life; a movement catches my eye.
I look up from my writing and his quick jerky movements a sight of beauty,
His frail wings carrying his slender body over the waters in search of his prey.
Now I sit alone in peace feeling one with nature.
A single word not spoken in the serene silence.
I search the pond my eyes absorbing the calm scene of rebirth.
We begin to leave but leavinf is the hardest part.
I turn and look out one last time; ears peaking in hazel orbs.
I wish not to leave this place of real beauty, but forever I know my heart is held captive to the pond of senerity.